The Terran-Vulcan Alliance of 2332
by nyanja14
Summary: Due to forces beyond his control, Prince James Tiberius Kirk cannot follow the family tradition (and his dream) of entering the military forces and serving Earth by facing down enemies in space. So he does the next best thing: facing a Vulcan down the wedding aisle. But his husband-to-be is not what Jim expected.
1. Chapter 1

"I can't believe this," Jim muttered.

"Which part?" Sam whispered back. "The alliance? Or the marriage?"

"You know damn well which part." He undid the top button of his collar, wishing he could just take off the whole coat. Jim felt like a complete sham wearing what was historically a military uniform.

"Maybe it won't be so bad. That old Vulcan said you two were mentally compatible."

Jim knew that his brother was just trying to give him moral support—and he was thankful for it—but nothing he heard was going to soothe his agitation right now. He couldn't believe this. "There are a whole lot of other things to consider in a marriage besides mental compatibility."

Sam leaned against the stone wall. "Well, I thought he was good-looking enough."

"He's fourteen," Jim gritted through his teeth.

"Yeah, but that's got to be about sixty in Vulcan years. I mean, did you see him? His face was about as rigid as a thousand year-old stone gargoyle."

Jim had only caught the briefest glance of his husband-to-be's face but he personally thought it had been the face of a scared kid. He figured he should probably keep that opinion to himself though. Not much was known about Vulcans, but one very well-known fact was that Vulcans did not like discussing emotions, emotional displays, or emotions period. Besides, he was probably just projecting his own sense of unease over the whole affair onto how he viewed the young… prince, or whatever the Vulcan equivalent was.

"Jim."

"Yeah?" Jim grunted, attempting to straighten his sash. It had slipped off his shoulder when he'd fiddled with his collar.

Sam stepped forward, adjusting Jim's sash and then his belt which had also gone awry with the twisting of Jim's body. "Thank you for doing this. And Aurelan thanks you too, of course."

Jim felt the nape of his neck heat up and stared down at his just-polished boots. "Yeah, well, I figure that since I can't serve Earth by facing down Klingons and Romulans in space, the least I can do is face a Vulcan down the aisle."

Sam frowned, but before he could reply a servant opened the door down the hall.

"Pardon me, Your Highnesses. But the party is now ready to receive Prince James."

Sam cleared his expression and brought out a smile for his brother. He clapped Jim on the back. "Good luck."

Jim returned the smile ruefully, then set his shoulders in resignation before entering the chamber. The servant bowed at the waist and shut the door behind him. The entourage waiting inside was small. Winona Kirk, queen of the United Earth and Jim's mother, stood to one side with the officiant. On the other side was the elderly female Vulcan that had performed the compatibility test earlier. Jim hadn't managed to catch what exactly her title or position was, but he supposed she was something like an officiant since she was going complete the bonding ceremony. Standing sternly beside the ancient alien was a (relatively) younger Vulcan male: Sarek, grandson of T'Pau (empress of Vulcan) and Jim's future father-in-law.

Lurking in the background was the single journalist permitted to record the historic event. Jim was relieved that his mother had agreed to the Vulcans' request of low media coverage. He didn't think he could sustain a smile for a thousand cameras. Still, he imagined that if he turned on a vid screen, every channel would be dominated by news of the royal wedding, lack of information be damned. It made Jim angry to even think about. An inter-galactic war was looming and the news anchors were probably all gossiping about what Queen Winona was wearing for her second son's big day. An inter-galactic war that Jim would be allowed no part in.

The door on the opposite end of the chamber opened, interrupting Jim's silent fuming. Jim moved quickly to join his mother's side as Sarek's son entered, dressed in new, ceremonial garments as Jim had been. He was named Spock and so far all Jim knew about him was that his mother had been human (the famous Lady Amanda, now deceased) and that he was a scrawny teenager with a sleek cap of black hair and ears he hadn't quite finished growing into.

Spock stepped up to his father and across from Jim and the officiant began talking. Jim only listened closely enough to utter the appropriate phrases at the right times. Instead, he stared at Spock hoping to catch his eye or some hint of an expression. But Spock's head was bowed. The Vulcan boy seemed to be about as engaged in the ceremony as Jim was, but he recited the vows clearly. Jim noted that Spock did not speak the same accented Standard that Sarek did—probably a result of growing up with a human mother. Jim found some relief in the fact that at the very least he wasn't the first human to marry a Vulcan.

Goddammit. This was really happening. Jim was getting married to a Vulcan. Everything was moving way too fast.

Four days ago, the news broke that in an unprecedented move, Earth's long-time antagonist, the Klingons, had joined forces with the Romulans. All of Earth had flown into a panic. Altercations against one formidable enemy had been trying enough on their resources, but battling against two would be a disaster.

Three days ago, in face of the news that their foes the Romulans had combined with Klingons, the Vulcans had apparently decided to abandon their isolationist tendencies and reached out to Earth with what they considered a logical proposal: Vulcan did not have the numbers necessary to combat a dual threat as few of their people chose the path of a soldier and Earth lacked the amount of dilithium necessary to fuel a fleet strong enough for such a war. Thus, an alliance would be most beneficial for both sides.

Two days ago, a treaty between the two planets had been hashed out and it was decided that the alliance would be sealed in what was apparently a Vulcan tradition for such occasions—marriage, or as they called, a bonding.

One day ago, Jim had found himself volunteering to be wed in his brother's place. Unbeknownst to the public and most of the court, Crown Prince George Samuel Kirk was currently courting a lovely young lady he'd met at university. Aurelan was kind, beautiful, and frightfully clever, but as a commoner her prior relationship with Sam had no standing in comparison to a Vulcan prince. Sam had been prepared to do his duty, but Jim was unattached and saw no reason for his brother and his intended to be miserable.  
A scant eight hours ago, the ship had from Vulcan arrived. Some more details concerning the treaty were discussed, including the switch from Prince George to Prince James. The Vulcans did not seem to mind so long as the pair was mentally compatible and so the mysterious Spock that Jim was to marry was procured for the testing.

And so, two hours ago, Jim had discovered that the being who was soon to be his husband was, in fact, a teenager eight years his junior by Earth's reckoning. He wouldn't have thought that marrying off a fourteen year old was legal, but at this very moment he was signing the marriage certificate so apparently it was.

The officiant finally stopped his droning and the old Vulcan woman came forward. Jim was completely unfamiliar with this ceremony, aside from some brief coaching earlier, so he resolved to pay better attention. Luckily, it seemed, Vulcans preferred their rituals short and to the point.

"We are gathered at this stardate, 2332.24, to perform the lifelong binding of these two individuals." Her accent was heavy, much heavier than Sarek's, but the voice emitting from her wizened frame was surprisingly loud. She turned to Jim. "I, T'lag T'kn T'Laypa, ask you, James Tiberius Kirk, to confirm your intent before these witnesses to bind yourself, mind and body, for the duration of your lifespan to S'chn T'gai Spock."

Still staring down the dark head across from him, Jim swallowed around the lump that had suddenly risen in his throat. "I confirm."

She looked to Spock. "I, T'lag T'kn T'Laypa, ask you, S'chn T'gai Spock, to confirm your intent before these witnesses to bind yourself, mind and body, for the duration of your lifespan to James Tiberius Kirk."

Spock had not yet met Jim's eyes. "I confirm."

"The intents are one. These two individuals now kneel so that they may become the same." At that cue, Jim knelt within reach of the elderly Vulcan. Spock likewise lowered himself and T'Laypa laid one hand to each of their temples. Prior to the compatibility testing, Jim had been warned that he may feel some sensation from the presence of another being in his mind. At that time he had felt a slight pulse, almost as though his hand had been dipped into water. This time it was more like his entire body had been plunged into a pool. He sensed at the same instance someone drifting nearby. Spock. The two of them flowed closer and closer together until he felt a warm brush, like skin against skin.

A camera flashed. Jim blinked and realized it was over. T'Laypa had straightened and Spock was already rising. Jim got to his feet again and discovered Spock's eyes finally upon him. They were large and brown and… human, Jim recognized. Spock had a human's eyes.

"The binding is now complete; a bond has been formed. Let it be so recalled."

And that was it.

On any other occasion, a royal wedding would have been preceded by a dozen lavish ceremonies and receptions and followed by a dozen more. However, due to the circumstances and the Vulcans' distaste for such exuberant rituals, Jim was spared from suffering through endless handshakes and chatter and gifts. He usually would not have minded going through the motions, might have even enjoyed some of it, but today he was distinctly not in the mood to fulfill any more princely duties. As it was, Jim had gotten married at a little past eight in the evening, so he simply had to sit through the most awkward dinner of his life before being allowed to retire.

He'd hoped that he would get a chance to speak with Spock at the dinner; he was sitting right beside him after all. But the teenager was completely closed off and did not respond to any of Jim's overtures. Unconcerned, Jim diverted his energies to establishing a positive rapport with his new father-in-law. Vulcan or not, the man was going to be leaving his kid behind on this planet and he didn't want the man to worry too much. He thought he might have had some success in that arena (Sarek was unexpressive, so it was hard to tell) but as the dinner wound up doubling as an informal strategic meeting, there weren't many opportunities to talk to Sarek one-on-one.

Eventually, Jim was allowed to escape, Spock two steps behind him. He was so relieved to finally have the day done with that he didn't notice where the servant was escorting him until they'd already arrived.

"Uh… we're sleeping here?" he asked numbly.

The woman inclined her head. "Yes. These rooms were specially prepared, Your Highnesses."

Jim scratched the back of his neck. "Couldn't we just go to my rooms? There is plenty space for both of us there."

"That would not be appropriate, Your Highness. In addition, this suite is traditional, is it not?" Jim flushed. The servant was older, perhaps his mother's age or a bit more, and Jim got the distinct impression that she was teasing him. He thought to ask for a different suite to be set up if his own rooms were inappropriate, but it was late at night and he did not want to put the staff through the trouble.

Jim glanced at Spock, but the teenager was back to staring at the floor like he'd been earlier that day. Jim sighed and opened the door to the honeymoon suite. It was just one night. Hopefully.

"Is there anything I can get for you, Your Highnesses?"

"Ah, not for me." He almost called out to Spock to see if he needed anything, but the Vulcan had already slipped past him, though the suite's living room, and into the bedroom. "I guess we're good, thank you." The woman bowed and bade them a good night.

Jim kneaded his forehead with one hand. The honeymoon suite? He supposed that technically this was his honeymoon, but surely no one was actually expecting him to have sex with a fourteen year-old. This suite had just been set up because it was, in fact, tradition.

Jim glared at the solitary couch in the living room. It was a loveseat and a very _intimate_ one at that. Jim was not particularly tall, but even his body was too long to sleep on it. Spock could fit, but Jim wasn't about to make the kid sleep on a couch his first night on Earth. Not unless he wanted to.

He wished he had some idea what Spock was thinking. It was obvious that the Vulcan wasn't pleased to be here and, though it didn't show much, the boy had to be nervous. Beyond that though, Jim was lost and he was too tired to try to feel Spock out anymore tonight. Tomorrow he'd try anew, but for now all he wanted to do was sleep.

That decided, Jim entered the bedroom to join the teenager. Spock had already changed into what Jim supposed was Vulcan nightwear. He spied a trunk that was decidedly un-Terran and noted that the servants must have brought Spock's things up to the room. He'd have to see about getting a valet assigned to Spock tomorrow. Spock was sitting rigidly on the very edge of the huge bed, large eyes fixed upon Jim. His back was perfectly straight and his hands were folded neatly in his lap, but Jim could detect some sort of tension coming off of him and realized that his suspicion had been correct—Spock was nervous.

Shit, he hoped the kid didn't think Jim was planning to have sex with him. Well, that was one chat that definitely could not wait for tomorrow. He cleared his throat. "Look. You don't have to worry about me… forcing you or anything." Jim felt a flush rise up on his neck. Was he really having this conversation? "…I'm not like that," he finished lamely.

Spock blinked once. "I have no such concerns," he said. His voice was level, though a little hoarse. "When T'Laypa entered your mind for the compatibility screening, she also sought for any nefarious tastes. If she had detected something unacceptable, she would have alerted my father."

"...Okay." Jim wondered if he should feel like his privacy had been invaded. Maybe on another occasion he might have objected, but right now he was too exhausted, too overwhelmed, to care. Besides, it was already done. "All right. Well, I'm tired and you had a long trip to get here, so I bet you're tired too. I'm going to go get changed. You go ahead and pick your side of the bed."

He opened the armoire and pulled out a set of pajamas that his valet had undoubtedly brought in. Usually he only slept in pants if anything at all, but Janice had sensibly set aside both top and bottom. Jim was glad. No matter what Spock said about not being worried, he wasn't going to give the kid any reason for concern. With that in mind, he changed in the bedroom before washing up. By the time he came out, Spock was already tucked deep under the blankets with only the top of his dark head visible and totally still except for the slight rise and fall of his chest. Jim crawled into the bed and laid down a decent distance away. He turned on his side to look at the lump that was his young husband.

Fourteen. When Jim was fourteen, his biggest strife had been worrying about making a fool of himself dancing at a court ball. His entire life had been building model starships and reading war novels and learning how to take apart computers by trial and error. He couldn't imagine being fourteen and landing on Vulcan to get hitched to some older guy he'd never met. He especially couldn't imagine doing so with the fate of his people riding on his shoulders.

_Spock is brave._ He added this to the short list of facts he knew about the Vulcan. _Spock is fourteen. Spock is the second son of Sarek and Vulcan royalty. Spock is half human with a human's eyes. Spock's mother is gone. Spock is brave. _

Jim closed his eyes to try to fall asleep. Jim didn't know if he could come to care for Spock like a married couple should. He didn't know if he'd even be able to get along with the kid. But at the very least, he knew he could admire him. That was somewhere to begin. That was a start.


	2. Chapter 2

Spock woke up cold. It was not a sensation that he was overly familiar with, but he blinked into keen awareness of his chilled state. His core had dropped one point eight degrees Celsius. Apparently he had overestimated the temperature that the palace would drop to at night. He resolved to never make this mistake again and moderate his internal temperature accordingly.

One point zero three meters away from Spock, Prince James was still deep asleep. Spock knew that human required more sleep than humans and he estimated that the Earth prince would remain in such a state for approximately another three hours, so long as Spock did nothing to rouse him.

Spock did not desire to expose himself to the frigid air of the bedroom, but he knew he must eventually and there was no reason to delay. He pushed the blankets down to his waist and slid off the bed quietly, clamping down on his body's impulse to shudder. Silently, he made his way to the trunk he had brought with him from Vulcan, filled with his most essential belongings. The rest of his possessions would be arriving in two point seven nine Earth days, including the sets of thermal underwear that his father had advised him to procure. If Spock had known more information about the current weather conditions in this region of Earth, he would have packed a set of thermal underwear into the trunk that arrived with him. However, data concerning Earth was sparse on Vulcan and there had not been sufficient time to undertake a full study.

Spock changed into his warmest clothes currently available and relocated to the common area of the suite. He was in need of meditation. Despite engaging in eight attempts over the course of the journey, at every instance he'd been unable to transcend beyond the first level. While a "honeymoon suite" in an unfamiliar palace was certainly not the ideal environment in which to meditate, it was currently quiet and after investigating the privacy lock on the main door he was able to ensure that no workers would intrude.

He settled on the floor facing the eastern wall in his standard pose. He was able to lower his heart and breath rates almost instantaneously. He focused on his body temperature until it was raised again to a comfortable thirty-eight point eight nine degrees Celsius. That accomplished, he was tempted to linger in this pristine, clear state. However, doing so would be highly illogical as Spock had many new experiences and impressions to assimilate.

The trip. The journey had been Spock's first foray into space proper and despite the unfortunate circumstances it had occurred due to, undertaking such a voyage was… satisfactory. It provided an opportunity to perceive the stars, one of Spock's favored objects of study, from the observation window of a ship. It was a unique experience, one that could not be replicated planet-side. In the safe space of meditation, Spock allowed himself to fully feel enjoyment of what he had seen.

Eventually he no longer had reason to remain focused on this examination, so Spock moved on. There had been more to the trip than stars. There had also been the isolation—an ancient tradition prior to bonding and a very logical one since bindings typically occurred after the onset of Pon Farr. Spock was still decades away from his Time, if he experienced it at all, but it had been determined that since Spock's bonding was to be so unconventional, he should adhere to those traditions that he could.

Spock was accustomed to isolation and usually it did not evoke an emotional reaction from him. However, the isolation during the trip had encouraged a very negative response within him, one that he tried to examine in meditation throughout the journey with no success. Here and now, with the trip over and his isolation ended, Spock was finally able to inspect and unravel the atypical reaction. The root of it was easily distinguished; Spock had been afraid. Fear was an emotion that Spock was highly familiar with and thus he recognized it and its effects quickly in the privacy of his meditation. He saw now how his fear had taken ahold of him throughout the last few days.

Earth. Fear had also been the factor that caused Spock to grabble with his controls ever since his arrival on Earth. While struggling to maintain his controls, he'd been unable to pause and identify what was tearing at them. The best he could manage was to enclose the offensive emotion in a box and set it aside. Now he knew what waited for him within that box. Fear.

Spock did not want to open it, but he knew he must. On Vulcan, keeping your head bowed was an acceptable way of publically acknowledging that your controls were faltering. It was a manner not often invoked, but Spock was certain that any Vulcan would agree that Spock had been exposed to sufficient causes for his controls to falter. However, Spock was aware that this action could be viewed as a sign of disrespect by some cultures of Earth. Already, he had been relying too much on this crutch. He did not want Prince James to think him rude. If he released that fear, he would be able to master his controls again.

So Spock brought out the box that he'd kept as far away from his consciousness as possible since arriving on Earth. He held it between his hands and then he opened it.

Fear of the unfamiliar. Fear of inadequacy. Fear of hate. Fear of vulnerability. Fear of loneliness. Spock let all of them blow past him, striking him and stinging him as though he was caught in a sandstorm. Protected here by his meditative state, he was strong enough to withstand these fierce emotions. The wind would not knock him over.

Finally, Spock had felt all the fear there was to feel. He discarded the box until it might be needed again. He moved on.

The bond. Spock did not desire to scrutinize this new facet of his mind, but of all the things that he had experienced this was surely the most important to assimilate. He threaded the link between his fingers. He had been… worried… that this bond would bear too great a resemblance to…. But no. That had been a parental bond. This bond was a different matter entirely. Spock catalogued the differences as a way to settle his trepidation. This bond was thicker and could stretch much further. This bond would be easier to navigate to its other end. This bond had greater potential to change and evolve. This bond was with a different individual.

James Tiberius Kirk. Now that his fear had been dealt with, Spock's innate curiosity emerged. He knew very little about this human and yet he was intimately linked to him. It would be nearly effortless to follow the link into Prince James' mind and discover all there was to be discerned there. As a human, he had few natural defenses to a mental invasion and, in fact, might not even notice the intrusion at all. But Spock would not do so, not without explicit permission. He would become familiar with his bondmate the human way.

Spock spent another thirteen minutes and forty-nine seconds repairing the damage done to his shields in the three days that he had not meditated. Once that was completed, he began disengaging himself from the trance. He backed away from his close contact with his consciousness, becoming aware of his physical body again, and then his surroundings.

His timing was fortuitous. He could hear noises coming from the bedroom. Feet stepping, the toilet flushing, water in the sink running. Spock opened his eyes just as Prince James exited the bedroom.

"Oh." The human's face had an expression that Spock identified as surprise. He didn't understand this—surely the man had noticed that Spock was already awake. But Prince James cleared up Spock's confusion by adding, "Were you meditating? I heard that Vulcans did that. Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you."

"You did not interrupt," Spock informed him. "I have finished." He rose to his feet to prove his point.

"Good. That's good." Prince James paused. He crossed his arms over his chest, then uncrossed them. _Nervous_, Spock recognized. "I'm hungry, so I'm going to put in a call for breakfast. Do you want anything in particular?"

Spock was not well informed in the matter of Terran foods. Carefully, he allowed himself to recall his mother, cutting off the immediate emotional response the moment it arose. He remembered her once comparing the taste and texture of _pla-savas _to a particular Earth fruit. "Would a banana be readily available?"

"Just one?"

"My hunger is still sated from last night's dinner."

Prince James cast him a strange look that Spock could not readily translate. "If you say so. Anything to drink?" Spock answered in the negative, causing the human to lift his shoulders in a brief upward motion that Spock understood meant resignation. He was unsure what Prince James was resigning himself to. The man walked over to a panel on the northern wall and through it spoke with someone that Spock presumed was one of the palace workers.

"That should be ready in about twenty minutes. I'm going to take a shower and change, then we can eat and talk." Prince James waited for Spock's acknowledgement before leaving him again. A moment later, Spock heard the shower start up—water, not sonics.

The majority of Earth's surface was covered by water. Spock was unaware of the exact percentage, but he knew that it was hugely different from Vulcan. Vulcan had no oceans, just thirteen small to medium sized seas. Spock sat at the table in the "nook" where Jim had indicated they were to eat. Earth was so dissimilar. Now that he was on the planet, he would have access to much wider and deeper databases. He would have to make a proper study of Earth as soon as time allowed.

And humans. Spock had previously only had access to one human subject, which was one more than nearly every other Vulcan. However, that subject was… no longer available. Faced now with seven billion new human subjects to learn from and discover, Spock found that his curiosity was only half-heartedly roused.

He had only ever wanted the one.

Spock closed his eyes and focused on the sound of his breathing. He was slipping into dangerous territory. He had to control. _The mind controls._

Eleven minutes and fifty-two seconds later, Prince James reemerged with new clothes and wet hair just as the door buzzed. Prince James moved to the door and disengaged the lock, letting in a human woman with the most intricate hairstyle Spock had ever seen.

"Prompt as ever, Janice, thank you." He took the tray she was carrying from her, despite her protests, and gave her a slight push on the back that propelled her towards Spock. "Janice, this is Spock. Spock, this is my valet, Janice Rand. We'll get you your own valet soon enough, but until then Janice can look after you too."

Janice Rand smiled widely at him, though her eyes displayed an emotion that was not quite in alignment with her facial expression. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Spock nodded. "Thank you," he told her. He had not had a personal attendant on Vulcan, not since he was quite young. He was unsure whether he would require a "valet," but since he was on Earth he decided to follow Earth form and did not protest.

Prince James handed the covered tray to Spock. "Why don't you go ahead and get started without me? I've got some details to cover with Janice."

Spock accepted the tray and withdrew to the dining area. The two humans had lowered their voices to what they would characterize as a whisper, but Spock could still hear them with no effort. It was not proper to eavesdrop, but apart from dulling his own hearing there was no way to avoid listening in.

"Jim, he's just a kid!"

"Yeah, I've noticed."

"But Jim, they can't expect you to marry a kid. That boy can't be any older than twelve!"

"Fourteen, actually. And it's already been done."

"But why him? Surely there are plenty of other princes on Vulcan, princesses too."

"I suspect he was picked because he's half-human. They probably thought he'd adjust better."

"Half-human? Wha—oh no. He's Lady Amanda's son? Oh, that poor dear..."

Spock focused determinedly on the tray, lifting the cover and inspecting what it held. There were two plates inside. One plate contained a pale pile of what seemed to be ground up grains, something yellow that smelled like eggs though Spock had never seen them prepared in such a manner, and waxy segments of some sort of fruit. The other plate was obviously meant for Spock as it held only a single large fruit. There were also cutlery and two cups, despite Spock answering in the negative for a drink. One contained water, which he presumed was for him. The other contained some sort of strong-smelling hot beverage

Spock took a fork, a knife, the water cup, and his plate and sat with them. He studied the fruit. So this was a banana. It was bright yellow (a color rarely seen in Vulcan fruits,) slightly curved, and seventeen point five centimeters long if one included the stem in their measurement. Spock held the fork in one hand and the knife in the other, as he'd been taught. He was unsure in how to proceed in eating this fruit, but it seemed logical to cut into it and observe its interior.

Prince James and Janice Rand had thankfully moved on to other topics. He was instructing her in what qualities should be sought in Spock's prospective valet and inquiring about where Spock and he would be moved once they vacated the honeymoon suite. Eventually he dismissed her and joined Spock at the table, withdrawing his own plate from the tray.

Spock stopped cutting the banana into slices and looked up at him. "I should inform you that Vulcan hearing is much more acute than a human's. The average range is approximately twenty-three percent wider."

Prince James' eyes went wide and his face paled somewhat. Not surprised—_startled_, Spock thought. Then he grimaced. "Sorry." He pointed towards Spock's plate. "I guess I should inform you that humans usually peel the skin off of a banana before eating it."

Spock had thought that the skin tasted adequate, though it was thick. Still, he followed the advice and began carefully separating the fruit from the skin. It pulled free easily enough. Prince James watched him for a moment before adding, "And we usually just eat it with our hands."

"Vulcans do not touch their food if it can be avoided," Spock returned. He transferred a now skinless banana slice to his mouth. Without the skin, the banana was creamy and sweet. He understood now the comparison to _pla-savas_.

Prince James raised his cup of hot drink up to his lips and blew on it. "I suppose we've both got plenty to learn," he said before drinking deeply from it. He swallowed, then set the cup aside and gazed down into. He drew a breath, loud to Spock's ears, before speaking. "I don't know how familiar you are with humans and Earth, but I can tell you now that I know practically nothing about Vulcans. Part of the reason for that is because our planets haven't been very open to each other prior to now." He fixed his stare on Spock. "But if this work is going to work, we'll have to talk to each other. If I stomp all over your cultural traditions or make a stupid assumption, I swear that I don't mean to," he said, voice earnest. "You have to let me know. I don't want you to be uncomfortable here, so promise that you will tell me when I mess up."

Spock agreed with this proposal, though he might have expressed it differently. "I do not have any objection to doing so if you will extend the same promise to me, Prince James."

"It's a deal," he assented. He picked up a spoon and began eating the ground grains. Spock noticed that he mixed the odd eggs in with the grains as he ate. "And we're married, so you better call me Jim."

"Jim. Will you tell me how those eggs were prepared?"

"These? They're just scrambled eggs. Uh, that means that the yolk and the white were mixed together as they cooked." He took a large bite of just the scrambled eggs before looking across the table at Spock. "Vulcans eat eggs? I thought Vulcans were vegetarians."

"Many Vulcans are vegetarians. However, most do not object to eating animal products so long as the animal consents to having their product taken."

Prince James—_no, Jim,_ Spock corrected himself—shifted closer and set his elbows upon the table in a gesture that Spock theorized communicated curiosity. "So you can ask the chicken for permission to take her eggs?"

"There are no chickens on Vulcan. Commonly, the eggs we consume are taken from the _kushel_."

"But you can… what, read the _kushel's_ mind?" His pronunciation of the foreign word was imperfect, but clear.

"In a sense, yes. While the _kushel_ are not capable of language, they are intelligent enough to understand the concept of something being removed and can respond with permission." Spock examined the prince's face to see if this information worried him. He understood that many psi-null species felt uneasy when confronted with telepathic abilities. As the mental link between the two of them was important for Spock's well-being and would only become more important as he aged, he did not wish for Jim to be wary of it. However, Jim did not appeared to be distressed, merely intrigued.

"Huh."

Spock could not eat any more of the banana. It was a pleasant fruit, one that he would likely request again, but to finish it would place an unnecessary strain on his stomach. He pushed his plate aside and took a small sip of water before doing likewise with the glass.

Jim glanced up at him from his plate. "Are you full?"

"Yes."

"All right. Why don't you tell me a little about yourself while I finish?" That was not a question often posed on Vulcan. Spock was not sure where to begin. Jim noticed his hesitation and followed with, "What do you like to do?"

"As I am still of age for general education, I spend the greatest amount of my time studying."

"What do you like to study the most?" Jim was now eating the fruit that was on his plate, picking up each wedge with his bare fingers. Spock averted his eyes to the tabletop and answered.

"Astrophysics is both fascinating and challenging. Computer science is highly practical." While it was technically illogical to have "favorites," most Vulcans privately acknowledged their preferences. Spock did not mind divulging this matter to his bondmate.

"I like computer science too. Well, mostly I like the engineering aspect." He sighed and set his chin upon his palm in a peculiar gesture. "I don't have as much time for it anymore though." Jim gulped some more of his hot drink. "What do you do when you're not studying?"

"I play the _ka'athyra_, a stringed instrument. In addition, a portion of every day is devoted to the practice of meditation to maintain optimal mental health and _ke-tarya _to maintain optimal physical health."

"_Ke-tarya_?"

"I believe it would be analogous to your karate."

Jim leaned back from his plate and eyed Spock up and down. Spock blocked the irrational urge to blush under this examination. "You sure don't look like a karate master."

"I am far from achieving mastery. However, please be advised that the gravitational force on Vulcan is higher than Earth's. My skeleton and muscular systems are much denser than that of a human. Likewise, I am approximately three point seven nine times stronger than my human peers."

Jim stared at him, an expression Spock could not decipher covering his features. "Is that a threat?"

"It is not," he replied quickly, alarmed. "I merely wanted you to have the information in case of—"

The human prince laughed, startling Spock though he quelled the physical response. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just kidding with you."

"Please do not," Spock said, inadvertently causing Jim to laugh again. He did not understand what the human found so amusing, not in either instance. When he finished, the man granted Spock with a wide grin that made Spock most uncomfortable.

"I like you."

Spock could not prevent the rush of blood to his cheeks and ears. He stared at his hands in his lap until he could regulate his physiology properly again. "You cannot possibly have acquired enough information to have already formed an opinion," he declared.

"Too bad. I trust my gut, so I make decisions pretty fast." Spock was saved from having to respond by Jim scooting his chair back and rising to return his empty dishware to the tray. Spock moved to do the same as Jim talked. "Apparently we are wanted by the palace's head interior designer to look over the plans for our chambers. And… and after that we are… sch— for lunch with… with…" Spock looked up from the tray as Jim's speech trailed off. The man was blinking, left hand clenching into a fist and unclenching again. He abruptly backed up until his legs hit the chair behind him and collapsed into it.

"Prin—Jim?" Spock asked, cautiously stepping around the table to come closer to him. Jim just shook his head slowly in the human gesture for "no", still blinking heavily. "Should I—" But then Jim went completely limp and a moment later his right arm jerked unnaturally and suddenly his whole body was ripped by convulsions. Spock backed away without meaning to and his heartbeat started racing unchecked. His stomach pinched. This was just like— Spock recognized this.

He dashed to the panel Jim had utilized earlier, slamming his hand into the button with excess force. The moment the small screen lit, Spock shouted at it, "Send medical assistance, Prince James is seizing." The worker on the other end began to say something, but Spock heard a loud clatter and raced back to the nook. Prince James had fallen out of the chair and was now shaking on the floor, legs tremoring and arms thrashing.

There were procedures for this. Spock knew them. His rational mind listed directions for his body to obey, but his panicked mind flashed harsh memories he thought that he had safely compartmentalized long ago. His mother, so sick. So, so sick and _dying_. His mother—

Spock sank to his knees and vomited.


	3. Chapter 3

"You gave that little husband of yours quite a fright."

Bones, his groggy mind recognized but it did not get much further than that. Jim groaned and lifted one heavy arm up to cover his eyes despite them still being closed. "Tired," he moaned.

"Yeah, I know, Jim-boy. You've got a pretty bruise on your noggin too." The doctor patted his knee. "Just answer some questions for me and I'll leave you alone. You up for that?"

Jim's mind was beginning to clear, though he was still exhausted. "Yeah."

"Good." Jim heard some rustling and knew that Bones was taking out his PADD to record notes on. Jim knew this routine well. "Any significant changes?"

"No."

"You had the same aura?"

"Yes. The lights." Jim pressed his palm to one eye and opened the other to look at Bones. He was in a bedroom, but it was not his. Oh. The honeymoon suite. The events of the past few days suddenly caught up with him. Jim cast his gaze around the (blessedly darkened) room. "Where's Spock?"

"He's waiting right outside, Jim. When I'm done, I'll let him come in." Bones looked up from his PADD. "If you're okay with that."

"Yeah. He needs to know." He barked a quiet laugh, but there was no mirth behind it. "What a way to tell him. I was going to tell him, warn him… tonight, maybe tomorrow, but instead—shit." He laughed again, but at some point it turned into a dry sob. "Shit." His emotions were always fierce after a seizure. Jim turned over to smother his face into the mattress. Bones was used to seeing him like this, but that didn't mean Jim wanted him to see tears in his eyes. He had gone four months without a seizure. He'd hoped that maybe they'd finally hit the right combination of meds. Apparently not. "Shit. Bones…"

"I know, kid." He petted Jim's hair with his free hand as he continued to enter notes with his other. Was Jim aware during the seizure? Mostly, up until the very peak of it. Had there been a particular trigger? Not that Jim had noticed, but he'd been pretty stressed out over the last four days, so that must've lowered his threshold. Spock said that the entire episode lasted about four minutes, did that sound right? Yes, sure, that sounded right, but damn it, Bones, it's not like he was watching the clock.

"All right, all right, I suppose that's enough for now." The doctor put his PADD away and stood up. "You want me to get you anything? I told those decorators to shove off, you'll have to reschedule with them. Want me to cancel you for lunch too?"

"No, I'll be fine." To prove himself, Jim turned over again and pushed himself into an upright position. It took some effort, but he was starting to feel better.

"Okay. We can do some tests, talk about your medication later. Let me know when you've got a decent block of free time. " He started to head for the door, but he paused and faced the prince again. "I wasn't kidding when I said you freaked him out. He threw up."

Jim was tired, too tired to indulge mysteries. "What are you saying, Bones?"

"I'm just telling you that he was scared. Don't let him fool you with that grown-up talk of his. He's definitely still a kid." The doctor smirked suddenly, a teasing glint in his eyes. "I think that makes the two of you fairly well-matched."

Jim lobbed a pillow at the man, but he just dodged and slipped out of the door with a cackle. A few moments passed, then Spock entered, pale and clammy-looking. He hesitated, then perched on the edge of the bed as Bones had done. His face was drawn and closed-off, even for the Vulcans Jim had seen.

Jim managed a grin. He hated somber moods like this. "Hey."

"Hello," the Vulcan returned, very quietly. He craned his neck to regard Jim with wide, dark eyes. "Doctor McCoy said that you have epilepsy. A neurological disorder."

"Yes. I'm sorry you found out like that. I know seeing seizures like that can be really… disturbing if you've never seen it before."

Spock shook his head. "I… I have some familiarity with convulsions." The boy folded his hands in his lap and stared down at them. "During the last three point five seven days of my mother's life, her brain had deteriorated to a state highly conducive to seizure activity and she experienced four episodes before finally… subsiding. I was present for three of them." His explanation was clinical, but Jim caught the tremble that ran through Spock's shoulders. Jim disregarded all the lectures he'd been given about conduct with Vulcans and laid one hand upon a thin shoulder. Spock did not object, so he rubbed gentle circles.

"I'm sorry," he said.

The hands in his lap clenched into fists. "No. I must beg your pardon. I know the proper protocols of care for a human experiencing a seizure, but I… panicked and was unable to be of any assistance. My reaction lacked logic."

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine." Jim smiled and it came to his lips easily this time. "Give me about another hour or two and it'll be like nothing even happened." He gestured to his forehead. "Except for this bruise, but that's not a big deal."

Spock's eyebrows were still furrowed, mouth stiff. "Doctor McCoy said that aside from the occasional seizure, you are otherwise healthy."

"Yeah. I have to be careful to avoid accidents, but I'm pretty lucky because I have an aura." Spock did not seem to understand, so he elaborated. "That's like a little seizure before the big one. The aura can work as a warning system if you catch it and react soon enough."

''That is why you sat down in the chair."

"That's right." If he'd been able, he would have gotten all the way down to the floor, but Jim found it difficult to make his body obey while in the midst of the aura.

"Epilepsy is not… deadly." Spock spoke the words as a statement, but his wavering voice made them sound like a question.

It occurred to Jim that Spock must have thought Jim was in his death throes or something, especially since he was only familiar with convulsions under the context of his own dying mother. "No," he replied gently. "Usually not on its own, anyway." He elected not to mention all the various, potentially deadly dangers associated with epilepsy. Jim didn't like to think about those things himself.

Spock let loose a very soft breath, barely discernible. A Vulcan sigh, Jim thought. "That is fortunate. I will have to do more research into this subject. I was able to learn about seizures on Vulcan, but there were no entries about epilepsy in the databases.

"There aren't any epileptic Vulcans?"

"Not that I am aware of. As I understood, the doctor said that the seizures result from dysfunctional neural activity in the brain. Unless a Vulcan was extremely ill or otherwise completely lacking in control, he or she would be capable of consciously regulating those signals into a healthy pattern."

"Damn. Wish I could do that." Jim had learned that Vulcans were superior to humans in a variety of ways, but he'd never been jealous up till now. Increased strength or heightened hearing didn't interest him, but if he could only control his seizures all sorts of paths would open up to them. Joining the fleet was high on the list.

Spock suddenly stood, Jim's hand dropping from his shoulder. "I will leave you to rest. Doctor McCoy indicated that you require 'alone time,' following an episode."

Jim chuckled once, darkly. Require alone time, huh? He was usually too frustrated with himself to deal with people after a seizure and the minor bout of depression that typically followed added to his desire to withdraw. But Spock's quiet, unassuming presence did not grate on his nerves as others did and the kid still looked kind of pale. He didn't want to send him away. "No, that's okay." He twisted his body so that his legs swung off the bed. "I don't like lying around much." As he got to his feet, the right side of his body ached in protest. He probably had a few more bruises under his clothes, but it wasn't anything he wasn't used to. "Do you know the time?"

Spock did not consult a clock, but somehow answered with complete certainty. "It is nine minutes after the tenth hour."

"Plenty of time before that lunch then." He exited with the bedroom with Spock just behind him and headed for the wall communication unit. "I don't feel like talking to any interior designers at the moment, but that doesn't mean we can't look over their plans. The sooner we get out of this suite the better, I think. Does that sound okay with you?" Spock nodded, so Jim activated the unit and punched in the link code for Janice.

"Yes, Prince James?" Even on the three inch screen, concern was plain on her face. She'd obviously heard about the incident, but didn't make reference to it. Jim really just preferred that everyone move on with the day rather than hover and Janice knew it well. "What can I do for you?"

"Janice, can you get the files for the interior designers' plans and bring them to me? Spock and I are just going to look over them here."

"Certainly, Your Highness. I will arrive with them shortly."

Within a quarter of an hour, Jim and Spock were swimming in layout plans and digital paint swatches and endless lists of furniture suppliers. Jim groaned, shoving a disc away from him. "Oh god. Were they really expecting to go over all of this with us? I don't care what thread count the sheets are, I don't care what color, I definitely don't care what wood the bed frame is made of. A bed. That's all I want. What is wrong with these people?"

Spock hesitated, then spoke. "I believe that because it is their job to consider all these details and because these rooms are meant for us, they wish for us to be involved with all of the peculiars."

Jim ran a hand over his face. "I know. I just—I'm not cut out for this kind of stuff. It seems inane to me." He looked up at Janice who was seated across from them. "Janice, do you think if I gave them a list of the things I do care about, you can convince them to leave me out of all the other planning?"

She nodded. "They're pretty pushy, but I can make it happen." She pulled out a PADD, then glanced up at him, fingers poised.

"Excellent. I want a bedroom. I want a bathroom. I want a study with enough room for my books. As for furniture, there is nothing wrong with the stuff in my rooms right now." Hell, there was nothing wrong with his rooms at all, but apparently it was some palace rule that he and Spock had to get their own wing. "Tell them to just have my old furniture moved in." He wracked his mind, but couldn't come up with anything else. "There's nothing else that really matters to me. But tell them not to go crazy with the spending. " The palace really did not need to be expending a massive fortune on redesigning an entire wing when there was an inter-galactic war on the horizon.

Janice finished entering Jim's sparse data, then smiled gently up at Spock. The kid was really bringing out her maternal streak, but Jim could tell she was trying to restrain herself on account of Spock being Vulcan. "Prince Spock, I could do the same for you if you'd like."

"Like Jim, I am not overly concerned about the peculiars of my rooms." He paused and Jim noticed that his feet fidgeted ever so slightly under the cover of the table. "The only thing that I would request is that my rooms have superior climate control than this part of the building."

"Have you been cold?" Jim asked. "The palace can get kind of drafty." The honeymoon suite was in an older part of the palace, so it got even cooler than most areas. Jim frowned as he suddenly realized that Spock was dressed very warmly despite it being June.

"Vulcan is primarily a desert planet. I am accustomed to a hotter climate."

That answered that. Jim decided that tonight he would light the fireplace in the suite bedroom.

"Don't worry," Janice said. "I'll make sure they install the very best system there is."

"Thank you. Beyond that, I require nothing else— though, like Jim, I do not wish the interior designers to plan anything excessively opulent."

"I'll sit on top of them if I have to," Janice assured him.

Spock looked faintly alarmed at this announcement. Jim laughed. "She just means that she'll keep checking up on them to make sure they aren't doing anything we won't appreciate."

"Ah. Thank you, Miss Rand."

They helped Janice pack up all of the discs and PADDs again and then she left with another assurance that she would make certain that the rooms were to their liking. Jim trusted her on that. She'd been his valet for nearly four years now and she knew Jim's tastes well. And knowing her, she'd probably spend the next few days researching Vulcan aestheticism on the newly opened databases and pass the information on to the decorators to ensure they didn't make any huge cultural mistakes.

Just as Jim was about to ask if there was anything Spock would like to do before the lunch, the wall communication unit lit and beeped. Jim answered it and was surprised to see Sam on the screen.

"Hey," his brother said. "Sorry, I know this probably isn't the best time." Technically speaking, Jim and Spock were on their honeymoon.

"You're fine," Jim replied. "What is it?"

"Do you have time to meet with me before lunch?"

Jim glanced over his shoulder to Spock who sat on the couch. "It would not inconvenience me," he answered to the unspoken question. "As my father is scheduled to leave for Vulcan this evening, I could use the time to speak with him in private before his departure."

"If that's the case, then Jim, will you meet me in the southern garden in ten minutes? There is something that I need to tell you."

Jim agreed, then ended the communication. "Do you want me to show you the way to the wing where your father is staying? The palace is pretty big— I don't want you getting lost."

"That would be logical."

So after a quick check in the mirror to make sure he didn't look too rumpled after his episode (and the subsequent change of shirt) they set off. Unlike their first trip through the castle, Spock walked beside Jim and not behind him. Standing close to the boy like this, it was obvious why Janice had mistook him for twelve or younger. Jim was hardly a tall man, but Spock's glossy head of hair did not even come up to Jim's shoulder. Height aside, he was also so very skinny—but none of the Vulcan's Jim had seen had been overweight so perhaps that was simply a species trait. Nevertheless, Jim resolved to have Bones find out whether Spock's size was normal or not for a Vulcan his age. Bones would have to get the boy's medical records transferred over to Earth anyway.

Eventually they reached the hallway where they would have to part. Jim gave Spock directions, confirmed that the Vulcan was confident he'd be able to find his way, and then backtracked to the southern garden where Sam was probably already waiting. Jim found his brother sitting on the bench by the fountain. Sam rose as Jim approached.

"So," Jim started. "What do you need to tell me that required bringing us all the way out here?" The southern garden was the smallest garden in the palace and very out-of-the-way. When they had both been much younger, Jim and Sam used to run here to hide from their minders.

Sam clasped both of Jim's arms tightly. "I'm planning to make a couple of announcements after the lunch. But I wanted to run them by you first."

"Planning to steal the show, huh? Don't mind if you do," Jim joked, but even as he chuckled there was a bad feeling stirring in his gut. Just what had Sam taken into his head to do all of a sudden? Surely not—

"I'm going to join the fleet."

Jim closed his eyes. He pulled both of his arms out of Sam's grasp. "No," he said, voice stern. "You're not doing that for me."

"I could have said the same to you. A five year contract with the fleet doesn't seem like much compared to a lifelong marriage. But I let you because you're my brother and you made your mind up." Sam gripped Jim's shoulder with one hand and maintained his hold even as Jim tried to shrug him off. "I want to do this."

Jim recognized that tone. It was the one he'd used two days ago when Sam dragged him out into the hall and demanded to know what the hell he was thinking, volunteering for Sam's spot. He bowed his head and muttered, "You're supposed to be a scientist, not a soldier."

"Jim, no one is saying this yet because I don't think anyone wants to acknowledge it, but this war will be huge. We're going to need everyone we can get." He grinned, the curve of his mouth both melancholy and amused. "Even guys that are better suited for staring through microscopes all day."

Sam wasn't going to change his mind. Jim had a fleeting thought that maybe their mother would be able to stop this stupid plan, but he knew without a doubt that Sam would out-stubborn her. That left one last resort: "What about Aurelan?"

This time the grin was true all the way through. "Well, see, that's the second announcement. We're getting married. She said that if I was going to go flying off into space, the least I could was wed her first."

Jim gaped at his older brother, then hugged him tight. "Congratulations," he said into his shoulder. He squeezed Sam's ribcage under he could feel his heart beating, in part because he was happy for him and in part because he was scared.

Sam thumped him on his back. "Thanks, man. I still haven't congratulated you properly. How's the married life treating you so far?"

So Jim stepped back and told Sam what he could about Spock as they moved back into the palace. They walked slowly, lingering, and talked with excitement that neither of them really possessed at the moment.

It was going to be a long war.


	4. Chapter 4

In the one year, one month, and twenty-one days that Spock had been bonded to James Tiberius Kirk, he had learned many new things.

Spock learned the names of three hundred and eleven different dishes and ingredients and took special note of those that were unpalatable to him and those that Jim was allergic to.

He learned one hundred and thirty three idioms and Terran turns of phrase previously unknown to him.

He learned that while a fraction of humans were suspicious of him or even resentful of his presence, the majority welcomed him and were not troubled by his differences. Spock discovered that one of the greatest assets of humankind was their adaptability.

Spock learned that standing before large crowds was unsatisfactory to him and that public speaking was even more unfavorable. He could tolerate both when he must, but he would never pursue either.

He learned the human language Russian from his valet, Pavel Andreievich Chekov. Pavel was a cheerful, capable, and clever young man two years and six days older than Spock. He was also one of the most effusive humans Spock had so far met and if pressed Spock might admit that Pavel had unnerved him somewhat in the early days of his service. (Spock would never confess it because his decision had been quite frivolous, but he had only selected Pavel from the applicants because he found the boy's accent fascinating.) However, Pavel proved himself to be not only a highly competent valet but also a good teacher after Spock expressed an interest in his native language.

Spock learned that holidays, particularly birthdays, were very significant occasions to humans and had to spend one difficult meditation session wondering at his mother's restraint.

Spock learned that winters on Earth were terribly cold, colder than he had ever dared to speculate, and was relieved when, at the height of the season, Jim declared that he and Spock would be spending the next month and a half vacationing in New Zealand. January in New Zealand was pleasantly warm and the island was aesthetically pleasing. At the end of their first week there, Spock had quietly thanked Jim for the trip and apologized for the inconvenience. He had sensed that Jim enjoyed experiencing snow and other hallmarks of winter and knew the man would rather be back home at the palace rather than sweating through a second summer. But Jim had laughed and claimed that he'd already gotten his "white Christmas" and besides, he'd always wanted to see the New Zealand countryside—three of his favorite classic films had been filmed there.

Aside from the temperature being better suited to his physiology, Spock also greatly appreciated the six weeks spent in New Zealand because during this time he had Jim's company almost entirely to himself. While he saw the man every day, at the palace Jim was nearly always busy. When he wasn't performing his various royal duties, he was heading up and volunteering for the many charities he was involved with. When he wasn't working for the charities, he was tracking developments of the war and organizing home-front efforts. When these pursuits weren't taking up his hours, the human also had to eat and sleep. The end result was that Prince James did not have much free time to spend with his fifteen year-old Vulcan bondmate.

This… troubled Spock. Jim was his bondmate—not of choice, but bondmate nonetheless. It was only logical to desire his presence above others'. Pavel was good company, but the brilliant emotions he broadcasted wore on Spock's mental shields and thus he found it tiring to spend his entire day with the other boy. It was not the same with Jim. Thanks to their link, Jim's emotions flowed gently in Spock's mind, like a moat around a castle rather than the battering ram that Pavel's stronger emotions resembled. In addition, once it became clear that their bond might eventually develop to be fully functioning, Spock taught Jim all of the shielding techniques that the human could master so that they both could maintain their privacy.

Besides the mental relief Jim provided, Jim was a good conversationalist, a great chess player, and near perfect at understanding when Spock simply wanted to sit quietly. Jim apparently recognized Spock's need to spend time with him because the man was meticulous at ensuring that an allotment of his time was devoted to giving Spock his undivided attention every day. Sometimes it was just breakfast before leaving on a trip or a lunch squeezed between appointments. More often it was dinner, later at night than the human norm, followed by reading together on the couch in Jim's study or a chess match. (Jim expressed understandable confusion regarding Spock's familiarity with the Earth game, causing Spock to explain that his mother had been an avid fan and carved her own board and set so that she may continue to play. This led to Spock making an unseemly display of emotion and shivering beneath a quilt held tight to his body by Jim's arm around his shoulders.) What was most satisfying to Spock though were the evenings when Jim could be persuaded to simply talk about himself and his past life while Spock listened. From these talks, Spock learned many things about Jim.

Spock learned that Jim liked horses, engines, and flowers and disliked poetry, curry, and hospitals.

He learned that Jim had desired to join Earth's military since the age of seven. ("I want to protect people and make a difference. My mother never liked the idea, but it's kind of a tradition from way back. When my dad was younger, he served for several years. Same as his sister. I've got a couple of cousins that are in right now and Sam too, of course. I'd be out there with them if I could…")

He learned that Jim had attended secondary education at a school in New Nebraska, that he'd graduated top of his class, and that he'd had a "small crush" on the salutatorian.

Spock learned that Jim had been too young to remember the day his father had been assassinated, but that he did remember many evenings of the king sitting at his bedside and reading stories to Jim until he fell asleep.

He learned that Jim and his brother Prince George Samuel once got into a large amount of trouble for accidently hitting an Andorian ambassador in the face during a snowball fight. Fortunately the ambassador forgave them, but Queen Winona punished them both on the basis that the snowball fight had occurred during the eleven hour of night and they were supposed to have been sleeping.

He learned that Jim was a terrible dancer.

Spock learned that at age eighteen, while returning from a night of drinking, Jim's companions thought that it would be amusing to hang Jim from a window of the aircar. Jim said that it had been one of the most exhilarating moments of his life until they lost hold of him. Fortunately, the car had been driving grounded at the time rather than in flight and Jim lived. Unfortunately, his head injury left a surgical scar underneath his hair and epilepsy that no medication seemed able to control.

Since the first episode that Spock witnessed, Jim had experienced six more generalized tonic-clonic seizures and two simple partial seizures. Spock was present for three of the generalized and both of the partial and though he was alarmed each time, he was able to maintain control and enact the appropriate protocols. Spock absorbed all of the information concerning epilepsy and seizure disorders available on Earth's databases. What he did not understand, he questioned Doctor McCoy about. He learned about past and present treatments and medications. Upon reading about the types of surgery available to treat epileptics, he drilled the doctor on why Jim had not undergone such a procedure. ("You think I hadn't thought of that yet, you mini hobgoblin? The risks of operating on that area of his brain are too damn high. He was lucky to survive the surgery after the accident in the first place; if we start fumbling around in there again, he'll probably come out of it blind or worse.")

Spock learned that Jim had indulged in what humans called a "white lie" when he told Spock that epilepsy was not deadly. He discovered that, statistically, epileptics were far more likely to die in an accident than non-afflicted people. He read about status epilepticus. Most horrifying of all, he learned about Sudden Unexplained Death in Epilepsy and for the first time in his life dearly wished that he could erase information from his mind. He spent the rest of that day deep in meditation, assimilating the new data and his highly emotional reaction to it.

Though emotional, his response was logical. Jim was, in human vernacular, Spock's best friend. It was appropriate to fear the loss of such a companion. But Spock knew that Jim did not enjoy people worrying about him, so he locked his darkest concerns into the deepest chest of his consciousness and allowed himself to take pleasure in whatever time he could spend with the man.

He'd been bonded to Jim for one year, one month, and twenty-one days. Spock would likely outlive Jim by a century, but with good fortune and modern medicine he and Jim could have several decades in each other's company. Spock only wished (as irrational as it was to wish) that Jim was not always so _busy_.

Spock had eaten breakfast with Jim that morning before the prince caught his transport for some sort of tour (Jim had been vague on the details,) so he had not thought he would see him again that day. Usually, he returned from trips rather late at night and went straight to bed. However, at thirty four minutes past the twelfth hour, Spock heard a gentle knock on his door. He set aside the novel he'd been reading (one of Jim's many paper books that he'd inherited from his father) and opened the door to find not Pavel as he'd suspected, but Jim.

"Hey," Jim said, his lips spread and eyes lit in a manner that humans often described as beaming. "Would you like to have some tea with me?"

"Certainly," Spock replied. "Please give me a moment."

"I'll get a pot going; come find me when you're ready."

Spock donned a robe over his nightwear. They would likely be drinking at the table in Jim's study, which (while warmer than most of the palace) was not quite as warm as his own rooms. He also put on a pair of the human shoes called slippers, which Janice Rand had recommended to him in deference to the palace's cold stone floors. The wing that Spock and Jim occupied did not have such floors, but Spock found the shoes to be comfortable and logical to wear when he might get chilled.

Finally, he tucked the novel under his arm. Often when he read human literature, Spock struggled to fully comprehend the motives and actions of some characters. While Spock had become quite good at understanding the humans he spent extended time with, he still floundered with strangers and acquaintances. He had begun a study of Earth fiction in attempt to correct this, but often came away confused. When this occurred, Spock would ask Jim for an explanation of the characters' reasoning. It pleased Spock that Jim never made Spock feel deficient for having to ask these questions. Tonight, he hoped that Jim could explain to Spock why the narrator of his current novel would live with feelings of guilt rather than taking steps to rectify his mistakes.

As he'd predicted, Jim had brought the tea to the study. Spock sat, placing the novel in his lap under the table to protect it from spills, and watched as Jim poured a cup for Spock and himself. Despite the late hour, he appeared energetic. Spock noted that Jim's personal PADD was on the table and deduced that he had something to show him. As expected, when Jim finished stirring honey into his own tea, he grabbed the opposite chair and dragged it over to sit closer to Spock. He powered on the PADD and called up several images. "Look," he said. "This is the school I toured this afternoon."

He flicked through several pictures of the campus, dormitories, and classrooms. Spock observed that although the buildings' architecture seemed quite old, the facilities were well-maintained and all the classrooms had the most up-to-date technology. "It's a boarding school that specializes in the sciences for advanced students. They have amazing labs, stuff I didn't think anyone would even put in a school. It's technically middle school through high school grades, but really it's an accelerated university program. Apparently some kids start out there in sixth grade and by the time they are eighteen they've got a master's degree or two."

Spock listened as Jim described the professors he had conversed with and the variety of course programs available. It was clear from his excited chatter that Jim was very enthusiastic about the academy. Eventually, he reached the end of his speech, laid his PADD on the table, and looked to Spock expectantly. Spock knew that this was a human social cue indicating that the speaker wanted the listener to comment. So he put down his tea cup and responded, "It seems to be an exemplary school. Are you intending to establish a scholarship with them?" Jim financed several trusts for financially disadvantaged students wishing to attend schools that would otherwise be beyond their resources.

"Actually," Jim replied, "I thought that you might like to enroll."

Spock blinked, then immediately shuttered his face to display a carefully blank expression. An emotion was blustering inside of him, one he didn't dare try identify at the moment lest it overtake him.

Jim continued, seemingly unaware of Spock's distress. "Some politicians' children have attended, so they are accustomed to high security students. And you wouldn't be the only non-human there. Right now, there are three Andorians enrolled and a Tellarite."

This last part intrigued Spock. For most of Spock's life, Vulcan's isolationist policy prior to the alliance with Earth dictated that non-Vulcan species were not allowed beyond designated trade ports— with the exception of Lady Amanda who had gained citizenship prior to the legislation's enactment. However, his curiosity was buried by the howling emotion. He ducked his head and took a deliberate breath. _The mind controls._ He looked up again at Jim, choosing his words carefully. "You wish to send me away from the palace?"

"What? No." Jim's eyes were wide, brows high on his forehead, and his mouth was hanging open slightly—a human expression of surprise. Spock realized that his assumption had been erroneous, but this discovery did nothing to mollify the storm of emotion. "Just—Spock, you are really smart, too smart to be stuck sitting around here poring through the databases."

Spock's back had never been so straight. "The databases contain a plethora of information covering millions of topics."

"But that's no way to learn," Jim argued.

"In addition to reading within the databases, there are several skilled individuals at the palace that can assist me in learning a variety of skills."

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. "Sure, there are people here that can teach you another language or how to cook a soufflé." Jim suddenly set both hands down upon the table again with more force than necessary. "But Spock, there's no one here that give you an education in astrophysics. You _love_ astrophysics—don't give me that face, I've seen you when you're talking about it, you love it—and I know you miss studying properly."

Spock did not have any response to those statements; they were accurate, though phrased with unwanted emotional connotations. In his silence, Jim continued.

"It's plain to me that you are bored here; Pavel told me that you spent last Thursday and Friday measuring all of the rooms on the south end of the palace and calculating how much water it would take to fill them all."

That was also true. As a rule, Vulcans did not become bored, but over the course of the last two months and twenty-eight days Spock had begun to suspect that half-Vulcan were susceptible to boredom. He had learned many valuable things at the palace, but it was perhaps not the most productive use of his time.

"I tried to find someone qualified to tutor you, but it turns out that astrophysicists are all busy doing… I don't know, astrophysicists stuff. Besides, even the best tutor doesn't have all the resources of a school."

Jim had searched for a tutor that could come to the palace. He had failed, but the effort… soothed Spock somewhat. Spock's shoulders relaxed slightly and he found his voice. "This academy, it is a boarding school?"

Jim nodded, tone softening. "The best schools usually are."

"Therefore, I would be required to live on campus."

"Yes, but you aren't required to have a roommate— I checked."

Spock looked to Jim's earnest face and then stared down into his tea cup. He touched the china with the tip of one finger—it was still warm at forty-three degrees Celsius. "It is not having a roommate that I am opposed to."

The human was quiet a moment, but then there was a rustle of fabric and Jim's hand was resting on Spock's back. "It's not a prison, Spock. You'll have holidays off and the students are permitted to leave campus every other weekend. Not to mention, I know you know how to place vid-calls." He was making reference to Spock's monthly communications with his father, Sarek. "You can call me whenever you want."

Spock gripped his tea cup with just enough pressure that he did not crack it. "Since you rarely have a regular schedule, it would be difficult to predict when a vid-call would not inconvenience you."

"A vid-call from you would not be an inconvenience. But if you prefer, I'll call you."

At these sentences, the emotion that had been storming Spock's mind suddenly subsided and were replaced with some other feeling—a cooler, gentler one. Spock wondered at its identity, but did not dare analyze it too closely at the moment in case it too dissipated.

Jim patted him on the back six centimeters below his shoulder blades, then withdrew his hand. "You don't have to decide right now; the new school year doesn't start for a few weeks. And if you decide not to enroll, that is fine. We can figure something else out." Jim took up his own tea cup and blew across the top of it. "I just want you to have the option."

"I will meditate upon the possibility." Jim nodded, finally taking his first drink of tea. "And Jim." The human met his eyes over the rim of the cup. "I appreciate the effort you put into locating an optimal environment for furthering my education."

Jim swallowed, smiled, and then skillfully changed the subject to the book Spock had brought with him. Eventually they parted so that Jim could get some much needed sleep and Spock meditated straight through to morning. As usual, he did not see Jim again until dinner time and by then he had also thoroughly researched the academy on his computer.

He told Jim he would attend.


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh my god, look at you! You've grown about a foot. What are they feeding you at that school?"

A hint of green blush rose to Spock's cheeks, but the corners of his eyes had softened so Jim knew that he was pleased. "You exaggerate. I have only grown four point twenty-six centimeters in the two months, three weeks, and two days since I was last in your physical presence." He titled his head slightly to one side. "As for what I consume while on campus, I assure you that it is not radically different from what I consume here."

Jim laughed. Four point twenty-six centimeters, huh? Of course he'd know the exact measurement. "Well, it feels like a foot. That's a pretty big spurt for you."

"Vulcans do not have spurts, Jim."

"That may be true, but you do a pretty good job of it."

Spock fixed Jim with a stern gaze, but did not comment. Jim worried for a moment that he may have offended him, but finally Spock lifted one hand in the Vulcan salute and intoned a ritual phrase. "_I have returned home._"

Jim returned the salute solemnly. "_You are welcomed,_" he responded in his heavily-accented-despite-his-best-efforts Vulcan. Then he let his face break into a grin and moved forward to lay his hands on Spock's shoulders in a more human-like welcome. The boy generally protested hugs, but he could tolerate this gesture. Although Jim had just commented on Spock's growth moments ago, he was startled to realize that he now came up to Jim's chin.

He pulled away and remarked, "You're going to be taller than me, no doubt."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "As you are of average height for an adult human male and I am physically predominantly Vulcan, a species with a greater average height, this prediction could have easily been made many years ago."

Jim clapped his shoulder. "Well, give me some time to get used to the idea, okay? Just two and a half years ago you were like a tiny doll."

"Again, you exaggerate. You have never seen me at a point in my development in which I might have resembled a Terran child's toy."

Jim could not contain his smile, nor could he contain the warm glow that seemed to be bubbling in his chest. Ah, Spock would just have to deal with his human emotionalism. He made himself sit down so that at least he would not press Spock into a hug, then said, "I missed you very much, Spock. I'm sorry I couldn't greet you when you arrived."

Spock glanced uncomfortably to the side, back perfectly straight as he too lowered himself into a chair. "It is no matter. Pavel informed me that you have been extremely busy since the bomb incident."

"Yeah. The entire investigation has been a huge headache." He'd been collaborating with the head of palace security on the case, but so far they were getting nowhere fast. Since the bomb hadn't gone off, they didn't even have any extremist groups stepping forward to take credit for the act.

But things would be much worse if the bomb had actually gone exploded, he reminded himself. Some days it was hard to think positively, but Bones had been nagging him about his stress levels a lot recently. ("Stress is your only trigger that we know about. Do an old man and yourself a favor and don't go stumbling over your own trip wire all the time, okay?") "But I am tired of talking about that. You took your last midterm this morning, right? How did your exams go?"

Jim listened as Spock provided him with a thorough recounting and evaluation of his midterms. Spock had been very busy as well. He'd started his first year at the academy pursuing the astrophysics and computer science courses, but by the end of the fall semester he'd been persuaded to add biochemistry to his program. This, plus becoming more involved with extracurricular activities now in his second year, meant that Spock did not have the free time to leave campus as often as he'd once done.

Jim was glad that Spock had settled comfortably into school life and relieved that he no longer had to worry about leaving Spock alone so often. But he _did_ miss him. No one else at the palace listened as nonjudgmentally as Spock and very few were as thoughtful. Plus, Spock was just plain interesting. He was always trying to unravel the mysteries of the universe, whether it was some huge enigma of science or something as small as "Jim, what is the function of a pet goldfish?" It was both adorable and somehow… inspiring. Jim found that it was hard to feel weary or melancholy with Spock near him. Vid calls just weren't the same.

On the bright side—Bones would insist he find one— with substantial amounts of time going by between visits, it was easier to actually see the otherwise imperceptible differences in Spock's appearance. Vulcan puberty, it seemed, started a little later and lasted much long with more or less steady growth the whole way through. But as (currently) the universe's only Vulcan-human hybrid, Spock was essentially trekking his own trail. The doctors on Vulcan had kept detailed records on his development, a role now filled by Bones. Even with the Vulcans' careful notations and Bone's intuition, there was no predicting what changes each month would bring. Jin was confident of two things though: that Spock would definitely be taller than him and that, given perhaps another half a year, Spock would finally grow into his large ears and long limbs.

When Spock's explanation wound down, Jim propped his chin on his palm and asked, "So, with all that studying and writing and testing, did you work up an appetite big enough for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow?"

Spock's eyebrows pinched together in an expression that Jim knew to read as _Your statement is completely illogical, but I shall humor you, strange human. _"Even if there was a positive correlation between academic effort and physical hunger, no amount of such effort would be sufficient for me to ingest the volume of food standard to that particular holiday."

"I have to warn you, Chef Sisko has been plotting for your return. I heard he's got an entire armada of Vulcan dishes ready for you to taste test."

"In that case, I will endeavor to provide him with an honest critique for each of his efforts." His lips flattened into a thin line. "But not in one session or else Doctor McCoy will have to treat me for indigestion."

Jim leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. "You know, he hasn't said anything, but I think Bones missed you too."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed."

Spock pressed his finger into a neat steeple. "Fascinating. On what do you base your conjecture?"

"He kept whining to me about how you are two months behind in your check-ups. Oh, and that you were going to catch a strain of pneumonia that was making the rounds in the academy's area."

There was that eyebrow arch. "The doctor will be disappointed, then, when he finds out that I have been in excellent health."

Jim chuckled, "Oh, don't worry, he'll find some problem to nag you about no matter what. A calcium deficiency or something, no doubt."

Spock's eyes were all soft, despite his otherwise rigid features. Jim wouldn't say so, but he knew without a doubt that Bones' awkward affection for the Vulcan was equally returned. Spock shifted slightly in his seat to give a reply, but before he could begin the study door's buzzer sounded.

"Come in," Jim called and Janice entered with a food tray.

"Good evening, Jim," she said. "And welcome back, Spock. It's late, but I thought you two could do with some food." She set the tray down on the table, uncovering it. "Jim, I know you missed lunch, so I brought you dinner."

"Janice, you are a life saver," Jim exclaimed. He'd worked clean through lunch and when he'd finally gotten out of the meeting with security, he'd comm'd Spock to meet him in the study without dinner even occurring to him. With food in front of him now, he was definitely ravenous. "Next queen of Earth, that's what you should be."

Janice laughed. "I think some people might have a problem with that. Spock, I didn't know if you'd be hungry or not. Chef Sisko sent up this, uh, I think he said _balkra_, said he wanted you to taste it." Jim grinned knowingly at Spock, but the boy—_young man now,_ he amended—was looking down at his knees. Janice continued, "But if you don't like it, there's some nice vegetarian stew too."

Spock nodded once, briefly, in acknowledgment. Janice turned to Jim, confusion written on her face, but Jim was as lost as she was. Spock had never acted this… _shy_ wasn't the word, but it was the only one Jim had… shy around Janice, not even when they were first introduced.

Jim butted in before the moment could get too strained. "Thank you, Janice. We both appreciate it a lot."  
The valet excused herself and left them to eat. Jim dug in eagerly but Spock sat still for a few minutes, his back rising and falling with steady breaths that Jim knew meant that Spock was collecting himself.

Eventually, Spock took up his spoon and ate five small bites of the_ balkra_ before abandoning it in favor of the stew. Jim grinned to himself. He wanted to ask Spock about the dish (his reactions to Sisko's efforts always amused Jim) but the dark head was bent over his bowl. _Thinking hard_, Jim knew, though he had no idea what about. The human had learned long ago that when he got like this it was best to let Spock peek out of his shell on his own rather than poke him. So Jim ate his dinner, content to wait.

It took Spock a while; Jim was nearly done with his salad before the Vulcan spoke.

"Jim."

"Yeah?" he replied.

"Are you currently engaged in a sexual relationship?"

Jim dropped his fork— it clattered loudly on the plate. "Wh-what?!" He stared across the table and Spock gazed steadily back. "Are you asking if I've been seeing someone?"

Spock nodded , a tight dip of his chin.

_Where the hell did he get that idea?_ _A tabloid? Did Pavel make a joke that Spock misconstrued?_ Jim pushed his salad bowl away and said, "Spock, you know how busy I am. I barely have time to talk to _you_ and I'm married to you. What even made you think that?"

"A classmate informed me that young human males require regular sexual release in order to maintain optimal health." Spock rested his spoon against the edge of the bowl and gave Jim a frank stare. "As I am unaware of you being in possession of a sexual partner, I assumed that you must visit such an individual 'on the sly' as humans might say," he stated.

Jim ran both hands over his face and back through his hair. "Okay. I think you've got a few misconceptions here." He laid his palms against his eyes, then lowered his hands to the table. "First, yes, lots of humans do prefer to have 'sexual release' on a regular basis, but it's not like they are going to die if they don't get it. Second, there is such a thing as masturbation. Vulcan has masturbation, doesn't it?" God, he couldn't believe he was having this conversation.

"While I am cognizant of this method of stimulation, it is not a common Vulcan practice as most Vulcans cannot achieve orgasm without the touch of another mind," Spock explained.

Jim blinked at Spock—he'd certainly never heard of that before. "All right," he managed. "Right, well, I'm not seeing anyone." A thought occurred to him. "And wouldn't you be able to tell through the mind link anyway?"

"Negative. You are remarkably good at shielding for a human. Though I could dismantle your shields, I would not seek your thoughts without your permission, Jim."

"I didn't think you _would_, I just figured—" Jim shook his head. "No, never mind." He rose and stacked his dishes onto the tray. "Do you want to play chess before I go to bed? It's been a while, so—"

"Jim," Spock interrupted. He'd gotten to his feet too at some point, unseen by Jim. "You said that I had a few misconceptions, implying a third item on your list. What is it?"

No matter how tall Spock got or how his facial structure shifted, he still had the same pair of big, brown eyes. There were imploring him right now. Jim sighed and lowered his head so he could smile a little. _It's ridiculous_, he told himself, _to be embarrassed._ Still, he addressed his words to one of the bookshelves.

"Just that I am married to you. I know that we were both forced into and it's not a very conventional marriage, but… call me old-fashioned, but I take that pretty seriously." He put his hands firmly on his hips and brought his head around to face the Vulcan. "I wouldn't cheat on you, Spock."

Spock flushed emerald for one moment, then cleared his face again in the next. The young man shuffled his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. "I believe that you are also in possession of a misconception," he announced.

"What's that?"

"I was not forced to come to Earth and be bonded. I requested it. In fact, I had to argue my position in front of the Council."

Jim was… not surprised, no. He knew firsthand how hard it was to get Spock to do something he didn't want. Even at fourteen, he'd matched Jim for sheer stubbornness. But he had always figured that Sarek had asked Spock to participate in the alliance. Spock respected his father a great deal and Jim knew Sarek could make a logical argument like no one else. The image of that tiny version of Spock pleading his case to be sent to Earth before the Council—Jim had met a couple of the members, they were intimidating folk—was both alarming and awe-inspiring.

"Why would you do that?" Jim asked.

There was that slight twitch that Jim knew meant Spock was wringing his fingers behind his back where no one could see. "It is not logical," he stated.

"That doesn't bother me." Spock had "loosened up" as Bones would call it quite a bit, but most of the time he was still so very Vulcan. Jim respected Spock's boundaries as much as he could, but Spock had been the one to introduce this topic. That made Jim feel secure in prodding a little. "Why did you want to come here, Spock?"

It took Spock a moment and he wouldn't meet Jim's eyes as he replied, but the answer came out. "I missed my mother." He seemed to give up on his hand clasp and instead folded his arms across his chest, a distinctly human gesture. "Irrationally, I hoped that I may find facets of her on her home world."

Sometimes, Jim reflected, Spock made it very difficult to resist dragging him into a massive bear hug. Instead, he settled for stepping closer and asking as gently as he knew how, "Have you?"

That barely discernible release of air, a Vulcan sigh. Some of the tension dissipated from Spock's back and shoulders and he let his arms drop to his sides. "Yes," he answered. It was just slightly over the level of a whisper. "I have witnessed both large and small actions that bring her kindness to mind. Her strength I have seen as well. It is strange," he murmured. He brought his eyes, wide and full, up to Jim's. "There is no one like her as human beings are so diverse; each person is so singularly individual and yet… I discover my mother everywhere."

That was it. Jim gave in. He snagged Spock's sleeve between his fingers and tugged Spock towards the couch. Spock didn't resist him, allowing the human to sit him down. "Wait here," he instructed.

Jim went and retrieved the thickest, heaviest quilt he owned (a legacy of his great-great-grandmother that easily belonged in a museum) and bought it to lie over Spock's legs. Jim kept his rooms warmer than the rest of the palace, but he knew that the temperature would have to set several degrees higher than he could tolerate for Spock to truly be comfortable. On the rare occasion that he entered Spock's rooms, he always began sweating almost immediately. If Jim was going to engage Spock in a long, emotional conversation, the least he could do was bundle the guy up first.

He settled down beside Spock. "Will you tell me about your mother?" he requested. He knew some things about the famous Lady Amanda and of course he could look up her up on the databases. But he'd waited to learn more because he wanted to hear it all from Spock—when he was ready.

Spock ran one hand over the quilt. "I try not to think of Mother because it is difficult to revisit my memories of her without becoming emotionally compromised," he confessed. He paused, then dragged the quilt higher to cover his upper body. "However, it has been six years, ten months, and fourteen days since she died."

"That is a long time," Jim noted. "But I know that when you lose someone important to you, it has never been long enough."

****"No, it hasn't," Spock agreed. "Despite this, I find that I desire to tell you about her." He traced the perimeter of one fabric square with two long fingers. "I believe you two would have gotten along quite well."

Jim smiled. "If she was anything like you are, we would've."

Jim did not crawl into his bed that night until nearly three in the morning. He had a conference at seven sharp and knew that no amount of coffee would dissipate the grogginess that no doubt awaited him when he woke. With it being Thanksgiving, he'd probably be running around the palace all day too, at least until he finally got to sit down at the feast. But it'd been worth it. That tiny, wistful smile Spock wore while he recalled his mother's face and voice… that was worth a hundred sleepless nights.


	6. Chapter 6

This time, Spock did not wait for Jim to call for him. He directed Pavel to deliver his luggage to his room as he exited the aircar. Pavel shouted after him that Jim was probably still at the conference, but Spock did not require this information; Jim's shields were failing and Spock could hone in on his location as easily as he could spot a _kal'ta_ blooming in the sand. He set off at a fast pace for the chamber where the palace held press conferences, restraining the urge to break into a run. At least one of them needed to remain calm, in control.

The security officers guarding the palace staff entrance recognized him immediately and let Spock pass without a word. Spock slipped into the wings of the stage, joining the other men and women lurking there. He stopped beside Janice, who offered him a small, sober smile. Jim was on stage with his mother and a handful of senior staff. Queen Winona was addressing the gathered crowd, her voice occasionally wavering. Jim stood at her right side, dressed in the formal wear that he hated and biting his lower lip. Outwardly, he appeared composed, but the turmoil and agony in his mind was spilling into Spock like cold rain coming through an open window.

Their bond was still immature, but nevertheless Spock concentrated and managed to clumsily transmit his empathy, his support, his care. It wafted through the link as a wave of dry desert heat. On stage, Jim started a little in surprise, then turned his head an approximate twenty-nine degrees toward the wings. His eyes alit upon Spock. Spock looked into them and was… distraught. He'd never seen this man so lost. But he boxed up his own distress. Jim needed him to be in control, not adding to the heavy emotions that already were circling around the palace.

Spock nodded to Jim and the human righted his head again to face the crowd. Spock waited impatiently for the conference to end. He needed to… well, he wasn't one hundred percent sure what exactly he needed to do, but he knew he wouldn't be able to do anything until Jim was in reach.

Finally, Queen Winona ended her speech with wet tracks streaking her cheeks. The press took the last of their pictures as the queen, prince, and staff crossed the stage into the wings. The queen and senior staff continued out into the hallway along with most of the people waiting in the wings (there was still so much more to be done today, still so much more) but Jim came to a halt forty point six five centimeters from Spock.

"Spock—" he started, but his voice cracked. Jim closed his eyes, but tears started coming out regardless. He ducked his head and wiped the back of his hand across his face, little as it did. He sobbed. "Sam…"

And just like that, Spock knew what he had to do. He closed the distance between them and brought his arms up to wrap around Jim, pulling Jim against him so that the man could press his face into Spock's shoulder. Just as his mind automatically registered that he was now one point nine centimeters taller than Jim, the man began trembling—not in seizure, but in sadness.

They'd been bonded for three years, six months, and one day. It was the first time Spock saw Jim cry.

The funeral, although broadcasted and viewed all over the globe and galaxy, was physically attended by only family and close friends. Spock was among them, but he did not pay close attention to the proceedings. The function of a funeral was the help facilitate the grieving process of the bereaved. In his instance, attendance of this event did nothing. Though the dead was Spock's brother by law, he had only spoken to the man once. The loss of life was always regrettable, but Spock did not feel any personal loss. However, Jim's pain resonated with him quite keenly. Thus, Spock stood close beside him now, so close that the distance between them was negligible—the man was leaning against him slightly, his arm against Spock's.

Two point seven eight meters away, Aurelan Kirk wept openly. Three years, six months, one week, and two days ago, Spock had attended this young woman's wedding. On that day, her joy had been radiant, so much so that even far across the room and with little connection to her he could feel it knocking against his shields. On this day, her despair was just as powerful. Fortunately, spending copious amounts of time among humans had fortified his mental defenses and he did not become subject to her anguish.

Despite the prospect of discomfort Aurelan's emotive demonstration posed him, Spock did not begrudge her. What had occurred, after all, was a tragedy by any account. She had lost her husband and the father of her child. Many others faced similar losses. An entire ship had been destroyed in the battle. Crown Prince George Samuel was by far the most famous of the crew, but funerals were also being held for one hundred and forty-seven humans as well as mourning ceremonies for sixty-eight Vulcans.

Aurelan's small son, perhaps sensing the feelings of those around him, began to cry as well. Aurelan picked the boy up immediately, cradling him against her chest, and it occurred to Spock that George Samuel Kirk had never gotten the chance to hold his own child. Without really understanding why, Spock looped his arm around Jim's back.

The funeral was lengthy but, like all things, it ended. Jim and Spock lingered only as long as was expected of them. However, it was already evening by the time they could slip away and return to the palace and their rooms. Jim was very quiet—he had been so since Spock's arrival. It did not worry Spock. He knew that grief provoked all manner of atypical behaviors in humans. Spock had read what he could about the human grieving process and as he understood, his role in this process was to give Jim whatever he needed. It seemed that what Jim needed was touch. He hovered near Spock while they were out in public and when they were alone he would hold onto Spock's arm or sit with his entire side against Spock's. Jim had apologized that first day, saying that he did not mean to be "clingy" and that he would stop. Jim had been worried about making him uncomfortable, but Spock assured him that such touching did not disturb me. Even still, as the days went by Jim drew further and further away, slowly regaining his normal composure.

For example, the previous three days Jim had never strayed far from Spock, always wishing to be in his company. This evening, however, upon finishing dinner he announced that he was going for a walk. Spock offered to go with him, but Jim declined. Spock was somewhat concerned about Jim wandering the palace alone; stress tended to lead to him having seizures and Jim was certainly stressed. Spock's imagination (not as unbounded as a human's but present nonetheless) conjured the image of Jim seizing and falling down one of the palace's many flights of stairs. Spock slipped his worries into a box and sealed it for handling later. Jim was by far old enough to make his own decisions and did not require minders. Besides, all the palace staff knew about Jim's epilepsy and were required to learn proper first aid procedures.

To prevent his imagination from forming anymore unwanted imagery, Spock retrieved his personal PADD from his bedroom and went to Jim's study to read. His focus was tenuous though and he had not gotten very far into his reading by the time Jim returned. Spock heard the man enter his own bedroom first, followed by a noise that must have been Jim kicking off his shoes. Finally he came into the study.

"Hey," Jim greeted quietly. Based upon the slight fragrance of petals coming from Jim's hair and the smell of salt coming from his skin, he had visited the garden that he and his brother had favored on his walk. Jim did not seem surprised to find him sitting in the study. Spock wondered if this was a testament to the development of their link or simply to Jim's tiredness. Jim nodded towards Spock's PADD. "What are you reading?"

"It is a treatise on Surak's precepts that all Vulcans are given to study during their beginning years of formal education." Spock had not perused it in nine years, eleven months, and twenty-four days, but for reasons he could not adequately explain he had been drawn to it tonight. Lately, he had been engaging in all sorts of behaviors that he did not fully comprehend.

Jim sat on the opposite end of the couch with his back against the arm. His bare feet rested on the middle cushion, eleven point nine three centimeters away from Spock's left thigh. "Will you read to me? In Vulcan, I mean."

Spock hesitated. "It is written in academic language. As you are only somewhat proficient in social language, I estimate that you would understand perhaps thirteen point eight percent of the treatise."

"That's fine. I just want to listen. I need to hear more Vulcan if my accent is ever going to get better." Jim grinned, a small but true smile despite the ache radiating from his mind to Spock's. The man's shields were still not functioning at one hundred percent. "Besides, I like hearing you speak Vulcan."

It was a completely innocuous (though illogical) statement, but Spock had to restrain a blush from reaching his cheeks and ears. Spock concentrated his attention on the PADD, returning the display to the beginning of the section he was in. He began reading aloud about everyday applications of _Kol-Ut-Shan_. As he scanned through the words ahead, he lowered his estimation of Jim's comprehension to twelve point five three percent. However, the prince did not seem to mind. Spock could feel Jim's gaze upon him and knew that he had Jim's attention—weary, but rapt all the same.

Spock was four paragraphs away from the end of the second section when he felt one of Jim's feet nudge his leg. He looked up from the PADD and saw that Jim had fallen asleep. His head was leaning against the back of the couch. One arm rested in his lap and the other lay limp at his side. Though his body was slack, his face was still tense as though a bright ray of sunlight was falling upon him. There was no uncomfortable light in the room though, just Jim's troubled mind. Even as he slept, he was mourning. Spock understood humans—and his bondmate—well enough to know that Jim would be mourning for a long time.

Jim still had socks on, but the hem of his trousers had ridden up enough to reveal a small section of skin. Spock delicately touched Jim's ankle and Jim's sleepy feelings streamed gently through him. Sadness, of course, but also regret and guilt. Spock let the emotions pool into his mind and then reverse the flow with a soft breath of _This was not your fault_ and _You are never alone_. He watched as the tension gradually left Jim's face, smoothing the palm of his hand back and front across Jim's ankle.

Spock had not been deceiving or misleading Jim when he'd assured Jim that his "clinginess" did not bother him. It was not difficult for Spock to comfort Jim, to touch him—not in the least. In fact, Spock wanted to, for Jim's sake and his own.

_I want to touch Jim._

The thought made Spock pause. He ran it through his mind again for verification and found the statement to be true. It was… a revelation. Spock had never before desired to touch another individual. He tolerated touch from a select group of others. It was not disruptive to his mental state for Pavel or Janice to lay a hand on his shoulder and he was accustomed to clinical touches from Doctor McCoy. He even enjoyed some contact; he missed his mother's fingers brushing against his cheeks and it was pleasant to briefly experience the buzz of his father's well-ordered mind. And Jim. Jim was a rather tactile human (though he tried to restrain himself for Spock's sake) and from the beginning Jim's light touches had been welcomed.

But he had never felt the desire to initiate physical touch. At least, he had never felt this desire until now.

A heretofore unknown phenomenon. Fascinating. Spock would have to conduct research and he saw no reason to delay.

Spock rose from the couch quietly. He considered waking Jim so that the man could sleep in his bed, a much more ergonomic furniture for repose. However, the man's mind was so peaceful at the moment that Spock elected not to disturb him. He did, however, retrieve a blanket to cover Jim with and a pillow to carefully place under Jim's head to decrease the likelihood of Jim's neck experiencing muscle soreness in the morning.

Spock booted up his computer. As the desire for physical touch logically originated in the mind and his own mind was primarily Vulcan, he began his research at the public Vulcan databases. However, it quickly became apparent that this was a topic that the Council had deemed inappropriate to file within the general databases open to Earth. Even more intrigued, Spock used his old educational pass to sign into the Academy's server. But even here, the most information Spock could find was that it was a facet of desire was thus a Private matter. Spock knew what this meant: his question was one that should be directed towards a member of his family.

Spock logged out, experiencing an emotion he recognized as frustration. He'd never thought that he would grow to appreciate human frankness, but it seemed he had. He swiftly calculated the local time on Vulcan. His father would be awake, but there was an eighty-nine point seven six chance that Sarek would be engaged in his duties.

Another fact crossed his mind: Spock had not spoken to his half-brother Sybok since the birth of his second daughter, ten months, three weeks, and four days ago. The reason for this lapse in communication was simple. He and his brother were not "close," as humans would say. Neither of them disliked the other. There were just many years between them and a lack in common interests.

However, with Jim's pain from the loss of his own brother resonating so keenly within him, Spock could not find a single reason why he should not attempt to cultivate a deeper relationship with his sibling. Bringing his question to Sybok would be a fair start. In fact, of all the Vulcans Spock could potentially discuss Private matters with, Sybok was the least intimidating choice as he was quite lax when it came to the practice of many Vulcan customs.

Decision made, Spock entered the code for Sybok's office commlink. It did not take long for Sybok to answer. He blinked in obvious surprise at Spock, then raised his hand in the _ta'al_ and warmly delivered the ritual phrase, which Spock returned. Sybok ended the salute and folded both hands on his desk. "I have heard of Prince George Samuel Kirk's death. I grieve with thee and thy bonded."

"I will pass your sympathy to Prince James," Spock said.

Sybok nodded and asked "Spock, why have you called?" Un-Vulcan tendencies aside, Sybok had never adopted the human custom of "small talk."

Out of sight of the camera, Spock allowed his feet to tap softly against the floor. He wondered how best to phrase his question. "I have called to ask you about a Private matter. May I?"

"You may ask."

"At what age did you first experience desire?"

If Sybok was startled or unnerved by Spock's query, it did not show even on his relatively emotive face. Rather, an expression of pondering rest upon his features. "My first moment of conscious sensual desire was when I felt the urge to touch another's hand at the age of twenty seven point seven nine _r'tas_. I first experienced sexual desire at thirty point six three _r'tas_."

Spock's brain converted the numbers into Terran years in a fraction of a second. As he'd suspected, Sybok had felt these stirrings later in life, likely near the average age for a Vulcan male as Sybok was an average Vulcan male.

"Spock," Sybok intoned. "In exchange, may I ask why you broached this topic to me?"

He felt a hot flush reach the tips of his ears. However, he owed Sybok an answer. Spock placed his hands in his lap so that Sybok would not see his fingers' nervous twitching. "I have sensed… changes in myself and how I react to Prince James," he said. "I am uncertain if what I feel is true desire; I seem to be younger than average to be experiencing such things."

Sybok stroked his chin, an exceedingly un-Vulcan gesture. "Perhaps," he murmured. "However, Spock, you must consider your human heritage. From what I understand, it would not be remarkable in the least for a human male of your age to experience both sensual and sexual desire. Indeed, I have heard many begin years younger than you."

Having lived a dorm with a number of young human males, Spock could attest to the accuracy of this statement. Some of the boys enjoyed regaling others with tales of their sexual encounters. Spock, obviously, never participated in these retellings but it was difficult not to overhear.

"In addition," Sybok continued, "unlike the majority of your peers on Vulcan, you are already bonded. With bonding comes the full maturation of all feelings."

Spock had heard this phrase, "full maturation of all feelings," in relation to bonding before. As a child, he had assumed it related to the focus and balance that being part of a bonded pair provided. Perhaps he'd assumed wrong. He thought to ask Sybok to elaborate on this, but his half-brother had already given him enough to consider. He would save this question for another conversation. "Your statements are logical; I will meditate upon them. I will leave you now to attend to your responsibilities." He saluted Sybok. "Live long and prosper."

Sybok returned the gesture, but not the ritual phrase. Instead, he said, "Spock, remember: you know your own mind better than anyone." Then he cut the link, leaving Spock to stare into the dark monitor.


	7. Chapter 7

Jim heard the comm link in his bedroom chirping, but ignored it. He was off-the-clock and Spock spent Thursday nights at the school's observatory, so it wasn't him. Whoever was calling him could wait until tomorrow. But once the bedroom link stopped, his desk comm began lighting up and beeping. Jim huffed, spotting Bone's ID on the screen. He didn't feel like talking to anyone, but Jim would feel guilty if he brushed the doctor off. He punched the answer button and grunted, "What is it, Bones?"

"Hey, Jim. Are you done prince-ing for the day?"

"I need to finish sending off some documents to the Andorian ambassador." Technically the woman didn't need them for another two days but being productive was a good thing, right? The Andorians had finally formally allied with Earth and Vulcan and entered the war a little over a month ago, so Jim had been in much greater contact with them the last few weeks. He'd been relieved to discover that the ambassador he'd accidentally snowballed as a kid had retired six years prior. But he'd been even more relieved at the news of new allies. The tide of the war was turning.

Bones peered at him suspiciously through the screen. "Doesn't that fall under Janice's job description?"

"I gave her the day off. It's her and the beau's six month anniversary or something." The guy apparently had something hugely romantic planned and Janice had been practically walking on air all week; Jim expected an engagement announcement from that direction any day now.

"Is that so?" Bones drawled. "And just when are _you_ gonna have time off?"

"Who knows," Jim dodged, scrawling his signature digitally at the end of a long form.

"I'll tell you when: tonight. Finish your paperwork or whatever and come get a drink with me."

"I've got a comm-conference with the Vulcan High Council tomorrow morning."

Bones rolled his eyes. "It's just a drink, Jim, not a frat party."

"I don't know, Bones…"

"Consider it medical orders. You've been cooped up way too long; a man's got to stretch his legs every now and then. Finish up and put on some sort of cunning disguise. I'll pick your royal ass up at the west gate." The doctor cut the transmission before Jim could broach any more arguments.

Jim blinked at the brash treatment, then grinned to himself. It had been a while since he'd spent time with Bones outside of being poked at in the infirmary. After all the boring diplomatic functions and terse meetings he'd been sitting through, it would be refreshing to talk to someone that had given up on pleasantries with Jim eight years ago.

Jim saved his work and shut down the terminal. He dug out his usual costume from the back of the closet: a battered faux-leather jacket complete with black duct tape on one of the elbows, jeans with ripped hems that trailed the ground, and the plainest, most boring t-shirt in existence. When completed with a poorly-knit beanie cap to cover his hair and huge drugstore reading glasses over his face, his presence was near invisible so long as he slouched and didn't meet anyone's eyes. The slouching part was key. Jim had become quite proficient at not being noticed during his teenage years—it was a necessary skill if a prince ever wanted to get out of the palace and have some normal-people-style fun.

Jim recorded and sent a quick message to Spock on the off-chance that he tried to call while he was gone, then he crept out from his wing (technically, he wasn't supposed to leave the palace without taking a bodyguard) and took the long route to the gate where Bones was waiting. After thoroughly insulting his attire, Bones drove them to a tiny hole-in-the-wall in the middle of nowhere with old clientele and even older music playing dimly.

"You really know how to pick them, Bones," Jim commented, scanning the small building as he sat down at the bar. "I don't think this floor has been cleaned since my—King Tiberius's reign."

The doctor scoffed. "Please. They pass their health inspections just like everyone else. Don't be such a wuss." He signaled to the bartender, a broad-shouldered woman with more freckles than Jim had ever seen on one person. "You want to go somewhere trendy, let that Russian guy drag you out sometime."

"I'm not complaining." This seemed like the kind of bar where people went to be left alone and fewer people approaching them meant lower chances of being recognized. He let Bones order their drinks and then clinked his glass against the other man's once they arrived. "Cheers."

"Oh? What's there to 'cheers' over?"

"What, a guy can't celebrate going out with a friend?"

Bones eyed him suspiciously over the rim of his glass as he drank. "Not when said friend had to practically drag the guy out."

"Well, it was a good idea," Jim admitted. "You're right. I've been keeping myself too busy." Usually such a confession would be followed by Bones gloating, but instead he just hummed quietly and drank along with Jim. They both knew why Jim had been so deeply immersed in his work. It'd only been three months since the funeral after all. Spock had gone back to the academy seven weeks ago. Without his company, Jim felt Sam's absence even more deeply.

It was getting better though, he realized. Jim could afford to lower his defenses a bit and relax without the grief overwhelming him—like he was doing now. Jim glanced over at the unassuming man sitting next to him, recognizing that he had somehow known that Jim was ready for this. "I don't say this a lot, but you know, you're a really good doctor."

"I do believe that this is the second time you've said that," Bones drawled, draining his glass.

It was a sort of Spock-like thing to say, but Jim elected not to tease him about it. "When was the first?"

Bones tensed his shoulders and ran his finger around the perimeter of glass's top. He didn't answer, instead leaning forward to call the bartender again. "You want another?" he asked.

"I'm still working on this one." Jim could detect the faintest hint of a blush rising above Bones' collar and suddenly he remembered.

It had been after the first seizure Jim had—a bad one, one of the worst seizures he'd ever experienced. Jim had come to surrounded by his mother and brother, a nurse, and the man he recognized as the surgeon that saved his life after that dumb air car accident. He'd been confused, not remembering at first what had happened, and then became terrified as the memory returned to him. The man, Doctor McCoy, explained the seizure to him, hesitated, and then added that based upon the brain scans it was likely Jim would seized again. And again. He'd apologized profusely to Jim, his mother, and his brother, apologized that the surgery had not been able to prevent this outcome—that the surgery may have actually _resulted_ in this outcome.

Jim had thought this apology was exceedingly dumb. He was alive, wasn't he? He'd seen the pictures of the accident, the blood and the gore and the shattered bone. He'd touched the still-healing scars crossing his recently shaven skull. Jim should have been a goner.

So Jim dismissed the man's apologies and thanked him for the surgery a second time, adding "You're a really good doctor, you know?" A strange, choked expression crossed the surgeon's face and Doctor McCoy excused himself from the room. He came back inside five minutes later with red-rimmed eyes and a raspy voice. The reaction baffled Jim until two years later when he learned that a mere month before being called in from Old Georgia to perform brain surgery on a prince of Earth, Bones had lost his own father to a disease he couldn't cure.

The bartender came back with a fresh drink and a tall glass of water for Bones. Bones gulped down the water in three swift swallows. Jim propped his elbow up on the bar and lowered his chin to rest on his palm. Underneath Jim's scrutiny, Bones' blush spread to his cheeks. "What?" he growled.

"Well, you're always complaining that Spock is 'emotionally constipated,' but you aren't exactly regular yourself."

"Shut up. I emote perfectly fine." He set the water glass down with more force than absolutely necessary. "Anyway, how's the hobgoblin's thesis coming?"

Jim was well-practiced in diplomacy; he knew a subject change when he heard one. "Good, I think."

"You think?" Bones repeated.

Jim took a small sip. "Well, he tells me about it all the time but I don't really understand most of it. I mean, astrophysics?" He chuckled. "I'm great with hands-on stuff, but when it gets all theoretical I'm lost."

"Don't sell yourself too short there, Mr. Valedictorian. "

"Heh. Anyway, it's Spock, so of course it's going well. He never does anything less than his best." His stomach pinched a little and Jim was suddenly keenly aware of how long it'd been since he ate lunch. Without Spock around, it was easy to forget about dinner and Janice hadn't been in to remind him. He cast his eyes around the building for a menu and located it on a small chalkboard. "Hey, since this is supposed to be a night out, you won't nag me if I eat something deep-fried, right?"

Bones started in on his second drink and rumbled, "As your doctor, I reserve the right to nag you whenever I damn well please."

"I'll take my chances. This place serves mozzarella sticks and I am not passing up on authentic dive bar cooking." He waved down the bartender and put in the order, along with a request for his own water.

"So he's really graduating in two months, huh?" The doctor peered down into the bottom of his glass. "What's he planning next?"

"More higher ed and lots of research. He probably won't be satisfied until he's got thirty doctorates to his name." Jim drummed his fingertips on the bar counter. Real wood. Didn't see that too often anymore. "I think he's had his fill of dorm life though." Jim grinned. "He hasn't said anything, but all of the universities he's mentioned to me are really commuter friendly."

"That'll be better for you too, wouldn't it? Having him around more."

"It'll certainly be good to get my regular chess partner back full time. Janice is great at a lot of things, but chess isn't one of them. Pavel hates chess. And you— you are horrible." The man had only indulged him in a game once and the result was so pitiable that Jim never asked again.

Bones ignored the jab, tipping his glass backwards. The ice inside clattered loudly. "You ever planning on making him a real husband and not just your chess partner?" he asked.

If Jim wasn't a prince and thus highly-trained in maintaining dignity during important luncheons and dinners, he might have spat his drink a little. Instead, a startled "What?" slipped out.

"I'm surprised he isn't already," Bones continued. "I mean, age of consent sailed by a ways back and his eighteenth birthday was months ago. I was there for the 'not-a-party party.' It happened."

"Why are you even ask—" Jim cut himself off and narrowed his eyes. "Did he say something to you?"

Bones scoffed. "Kid, do you have any idea how many confidentiality forms I've signed in my lifetime? Even if he did, I wouldn't tell you shit."

"We're _married_."

"And he's my patient."

"You told him all about my surgery and seizures and stuff."

"After you said I could. I even made you sign something, remember?"

"Oh." With all the physical and digital paperwork that crossed his desk, it was easy to forget one form from years ago.

The doctor sighed and held up two hands in concession. "Look, it's between the two of you. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. I'm just asking, is all. The kid's not exactly a kid anymore, you know what I mean?"

"No, you're okay; you just took me by surprise. I guess I don't really let myself think about him like that." Jim polished off the rest of his drink, wishing he'd ordered something stronger. Maybe after he ate a little. He stared at his empty glass and murmured, "What we have right now is , I don't know if he's even interested in me like that. Or sex, for that matter."

"…And yet you won't consider seeing other people. Knowing Spock, he'd probably give you permission."

Jim wasn't so sure of that, considering that weird conversation he'd had with Spock over Thanksgiving break two year ago. That wasn't any of Bones' business though, so he just responded, "No."

Bones shook his head. "I'm amazed you made it this long staying celibate."

"It really isn't that difficult."

"Here you go, sir." The bartender announced, making both Jim and Bones start a little. She set a steaming plate in front of Jim and he thanked her. She inclined her head slightly in what might have been a nod before leaving them.

"Ooh, mozzarella sticks," Jim crooned. He rubbed his hands together. "Oh god, they look so greasy and cheap and wonderful." He picked one up and bit into it, the hot cheese burning his tongue. _Worth it_. "Man, this is the best. You want one?"

"I'll pass. How about you explain what exactly you meant a moment ago."

Jim crammed the rest of the deep-fried perfection and chewed it thoroughly for as long as he reasonably could. Eventually though, he had to swallow and reply. "Are you asking as a friend or a therapist? Because you sure aren't my therapist— officially, anyway."

"I'm asking as your friend and your doctor," Bones grumbled. "Some sex now and then would probably be good for your stress levels. And by extension, mine."

"Fine, fine." He plucked another mozzarella stick up and ripped it in half to let the cheese cool. "Well, you know, I used to sleep around a lot." He paused and reconsidered. "Actually, you weren't working at the palace back then, so I guess you wouldn't know."

"I remember the tabloids," the doctor retorted. "I didn't read them, but it was hard to miss." A promiscuous prince wasn't as huge of a scandal and it once was, but it was still considered rag-worthy when there weren't any celebrity pregnancies to report.

"Yeah, and that was just what the tabloids knew about." Jim stretched the pieces apart until the cheese string finally snapped before eating one end.

Bones watched, but finally huffed. "And? What changed?"

"I'm not sure. It's not like there was any one thing." Jim tugged a napkin out of a nearby dispenser and wiped off his fingers. "I guess… I was a teenager and having tons of no-strings-attached sex was fun. It was easy to get too. Even when I concealed my identity, I was still a handsome, charming guy." Bones rolled his eyes, prompting a short laugh from Jim. "What, are you jealous? I'm just stating a fact."

"Yeah, yeah, you're very pretty," Bones said dismissively, drawl in full force.

Jim finished the other half and then stole Bones' second drink for a quick sip. He didn't want to call over the bartender and have to pick up this conversation again. "Anyway, eventually, it just started to feel kind of… empty. I didn't know any of those people and they didn't know me. I'd still go out because it was still fun, of course, but whenever I was finished with someone, I couldn't help but feel that it was all so meaningless. Geez, that makes me sound like some stuffy, old man…"

"Didn't you date a little though?"

"Yeah, a couple of people. For a while." He drained Bones' glass for him (surprisingly without any protests) and sighed. "It's hard to find someone that can see past the crown though. You think you know a person, but you find out they've been interested for all the wrong reasons."

Bones nodded. "Folk like Aurelan are a rare breed."

"That she is." Frowning down at his plate, Jim tore up the rest of the mozzarella sticks. "And just as I was realizing all this, the accident happened. And then there was all the recovery time and Sam got really busy with university and I had to take over some of his duties and before I knew it it'd been a year since I last got laid and I discovered that I didn't really miss it much." He lined the pieces up into a neat row from longest to shortest. "I mean, sex is great; I like sex. But I decided that what I really wanted was to share it with someone that meant something to me… and to whom I meant something too."

Under Bone's careful gaze, Jim ate each of the stick pieces, starting with the smallest. He'd gotten through three quarters of them before Bones shifted in his seat and asked, "Do you think Spock could be that for you?"

"I told you, I haven't exactly been thinking of him in those terms." He lowered one hand towards the floor. "I mean, do you remember when he was just this tall? Talk about a turn-off."

"And like I said, he's not a kid anymore."

Jim thought about Spock holding him on the stage after his mother's sad announcement and the weeks of quiet company and comforting touches that followed. "No, he's not," he agreed. At fourteen, Spock would not have been able to a handle the powerful emotions coming off of Jim and he certainly wouldn't have been able to tuck Jim's head perfectly within the space between his neck and shoulder, like it belonged there.

Bones repeated himself, with none of the grumbling about idiots that usually preceded such an act. "Do you think Spock could be that for you?"

Jim ate the last of his mozzarella sticks and scrubbed his hands with a fresh napkin as he considered the question. Truth to be told, there wasn't much to be considered. "I know he could," he answered finally. "Whether he wants it to be that way between us… that's up to him." He looked up at Bones and met his friend's eyes for the first time in a while. "That first day, I promised myself to do my best never to make Spock uncomfortable. I won't ask him for something he isn't ready to provide, or capable of providing, or just plain doesn't want to provide."

Bones didn't seem to have any reply to that. If he did, he kept it to himself. The two of them sat in silence for a while, the low noises of the music and other bar patrons filling the space until Jim finally pushed his plate away from himself and brought up a new topic. They talked a while, ordered a round of an unfamiliar seasonal brew, and Jim convinced Bones to split a cheeseburger with him. ("Carbs, protein, and calcium, it's perfectly balanced. If they stick some lettuce, tomato, and onions on it, we can get our veggies too!")

When Bones finally drove them back to the palace, Jim had enough of a pleasant buzz going to simply toe off the shoes, shrug out of the jacket, and throw the hat to some corner of the room before sinking into his bed. He closed his eyes and didn't think about Sam or the war or the latest failing of his epilepsy medication. He thought about Spock— probably back from the observatory by now and typing away at his thesis despite the late hour— and just slept.


End file.
